Rebuilding Sherlock
by AraneLuna
Summary: Can John prove to Sherlock that he is lovable after massive trauma in his life? *Multi-chapter, no end in sight, M rated content later on, but not for a while* Johnlock, Mystrade, Mormor Post-Reichenbach
1. Discussing Mystrade

**Hello, fellow readers! I'm AraneLuna, new to , but not new to fanfiction. Here's my first submission (a REALLY LONG story, multi-chapter). This is actually an Omegle RP between me and my John/Mycroft, Rachel. Thanks so much!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters...except for the OCs...and those are...well...jointly owned. Everything recognisable is the property of the Mofftiss. All hail the Mofftiss.**

**Also...I am not British. So...this has not been Brit-picked. If anyone would like to...message me...and I will learn how to read it on here. :D**

**Enjoy!**

**Love, AraneLuna**

_How was lunch with your brother?-JW_

_Like pulling teeth, as always. -SH_

_Not good, then?-JW_

_Just his usual. 'Why don't you visit Mummy?' 'You really should take care of yourself better.-SH_

_At least it's over. We agreed. I'd have lunch with Harry if you had lunch with Mycroft.-JW_

_Speaking of, I've arranged for your luncheon with Harriet already. -SH_

_Right. Yeah. Thanks for that, but I'm perfectly capable of talking to my own sister.-JW_

_Oh no, I just gave her the reservations I made. By text. I didn't actually speak to her. -SH_

_You...made reservations?-JW_

_Sherlock, we've talked about this.-JW_

_It's at Angelo's. -SH_

_Nowhere out of place. -SH_

_Still, Sherlock. You've got to let me handle this by myself.-JW_

_I thought I was helping. -SH_

_Oh. Well, thank you for helping.-JW_

_Is that sarcasm? -SH_

_Not at all.-JW_

_Oh...all right then -SH_

_What did you and Mycroft talk about then?-JW_

_Like I said. The usual. You came up though -SH_

_Me? Why?-JW_

_My dear brother is still under the impression there is something more between us. -SH_

_Your dear brother should get his nose out of our lives.-JW_

_Oh but I wish he would. -SH_

_Did you ask about his latest rent boy?-JW_

_I did. But curiously, he was telling the truth when he said he hadn't got one. -SH_

_Was he? Interesting.-JW_

_Mhmm...but I detected a blush when I mentioned Lestrade. -SH_

_Oh...no. God no. Please, no.-JW_

_It would appear it's casual at this point. -SH_

_I don't care. That's just...no.-JW_

_I don't think I can look at Lestrade with a straight face now. -SH_

_I don't think I can look at Lestrade now. At all.-JW_

_Too bad. We have a case. -SH_

_Really? Fill me in.-JW_

_Double murder near the West End...two starlets. -SH_

_Oh? What makes it interesting?-JW_

_Neither of them could fire a gun. -SH_

_So not murder suicide.-JW_

_Or so their castmates say. -SH_

_No. -SH_

_Want me to meet you there?-JW_

_If you would please. -SH_

_Be there in ten.-JW_

_Just when did you make these reservations?-JW_

_Yesterday. -SH_

_When did you make them /for?/-JW_

_Oh...Friday. Noon. -SH_

_If we're still on the case, I'm breaking them.-JW_

_Why? Don't use the case as an excuse to back out of our deal, John. -SH_

_I'll reschedule.-JW_

_Sure you will. -SH_

_You'll make me.-JW_

_Yes. Because I suffered an hour and a half of my brother's company. Time better used for experiments. -SH_

_He's your brother, Sherlock. And he may be a git, but he's still family.-JW_

_Doesn't mean I need images of him and Lestrade in bed together. -SH_

_Dammit. I didn't either. And I didn't have until just now.-JW_

_If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me. -SH_

_I hate you for that.-JW_

_You don't hate me. -SH_

_No. I don't.-JW_

_Exactly. -SH_

_I wish I could sometimes.-JW_

_Hmm? -SH_

_Hate you.-JW_

_And why can't you? -SH_

_I just can't. It's impossible.-JW_

_I don't believe that. -SH_

_Nothing's impossible, John. -SH_

_Yes it is. Flying without assistance is impossible.-JW_

_And hating you is impossible.-JW_

_At least for me.-JW_

_I don't understand why. -SH_

_I don't either.-JW_

_Curiouser and curiouser. -SH_

_You remember children's books, but not the solar system?-JW_

_I was a child once. And Lewis Carroll always fascinated me. -SH_

_You were also a student once. You learned the solar system.-JW_

_And found it boring and unnecessary. -SH_

_Right.-JW_

_Why do I need to know that the Earth revolves around the Sun? -SH_

_To help solve cases, apparently.-JW_

_That was one time. And it had nothing to do with the Earth's rotation or orbit.-SH_

_Nope. Just basic astronomy.-JW_

_But you know that, so why do I need to? -SH_

_Because what if I'm not around?-JW_

_You'll always be around. -SH_

_We don't know that.-JW_

_I won't let you not be around. -SH_

_Sherlock...-JW_

_What? -SH_

_There are some things you can't control.-JW_

_Then I'm going to damn well control the ones I can. -SH_

_Sherlock, calm down.-JW_

_I am calm. -SH_

_Doesn't seem like it.-JW_

_What? So I can't say one swear word with you saying 'calm down'? -SH_

_No, it's just...you seem upset.-JW_

_I'm fine, John. -SH_

_Okay. You sure?-JW_

_Yes. Quite. -SH_

_I'm almost to the theatre. -SH_

_Same. You'll probably get there before I do, though. Traffic's terrible.-JW_

_I suspect it's the weather. It's not been all that conducive for travel. -SH_

_Not that great, no.-JW_

_Did you bring your umbrella? -SH_

_...No. I barely grabbed my coat.-JW_

_You can share with me then. I pinched Mycroft's. -SH_

_Very nice. I suppose he'll be furious.-JW_

_Livid, actually, judging by his texts. -SH_

_Fantastic.-JW_

_You can give it to Greg after we're done. I'm sure he'll make sure it gets back to your brother.-JW_

_He just noticed it's absence apparently. -SH_

_Stop bringing that up! -SH_

_You brought me down, I'm keeping you there.-JW_

_I just got finished deleting it! -SH_

_If I can't delete it, neither can you.-JW_

_Damn you. -SH_

_Yeah, yeah.-JW_

_I don't need that creeping in my scant hours of sleep, thank you very much. -SH_

_I wonder who tops?-JW_

_Bet it's Greg.-JW_

_Stop it. -SH_

_I wonder if they have any kinks.-JW_

_Ooh! I wonder if they use the umbrella!-JW_

_Or foodplay.-JW_

_GOD! JOHN! -SH_

_Cake. Mycroft would love that.-JW_

_Food /and/ sex.-JW_

_I can't...stop it! -SH_

_Oh, but I'm having fun.-JW_

_I will think of the most creative revenge possible. -SH_

_It's worth it.-JW_

_I only wish I could see the look on your face. You'll probably delete this by the time we see each other. I might have to do it again.-JW_

_I have a lovely bag of fingers I might introduce to your tea. -SH_

_You will never be allowed around my food again.-JW_

_Not in front of Lestrade. -SH_

_Maybe...-JW_

_No. -SH_

_Oh come on!-JW_

_I don't need the look on Lestrade's face confirming my suspicions. -SH_

_Could be fun.-JW_

_Or nausea inducing. I can't even touch this umbrella now thanks to you. -SH_

_I'll hold it.-JW_

_What if they have used it for...that? -SH_

_Can you really not say sex, Sherlock?-JW_

_Not in connection with my brother. -SH_

_Your brother Mycroft and newly divorced Gregory Lestrade most likely have hot kinky sex with cake and umbrellas.-JW_

_Happy Christmas.-JW_

_Those fingers are definitely going in your tea. -SH_

_I won't drink it. And thanks for the warning.-JW_

_Oh it will be when you least expect it. -SH_

_Or I can powder them and put them in your tea leaves. -SH_

_I'm not taking food from you ever again.-JW_

_Especially after Baskerville.-JW_

_It was an experiment, John. I needed to know. -SH_

_I don't care. I'm your friend. I think.-JW_

_You are my friend. My only one. -SH_

_Well, that's nice to know.-JW_

_Doesn't mean I won't get revenge for you poisoning my mind palace. -SH_

_Oh boo hoo. You'll delete it soon enough.-JW_

_Then you'll bring it up again. -SH_

_Maybe.-JW_

_Just to be cruel. -SH_

_Nope. Never cruel.-JW_

_I'm tempted to leave this evil thing in the cab. -SH_

_I'm not afraid of a little rain. But you know I was kidding, right?-JW_

_What? -SH_

_About the cake and the umbrella.-JW_

_Don't bring it up again. -SH_

_Not unless you're absolutely horrid.-JW_

_I'm wounded John. I can behave myself. -SH_

_Not always.-JW_

_I try. -SH_

_Most of the time.-JW_

_Well, the world seems to have a problem with me. -SH_

_Right. Blame it on the world. There are times you act like a two year old.-JW_

_Do not! -SH_

_Exhibit A.-JW_

_This is not a courtroom, John. -SH_

_Figure of speech.-JW_

_Still. -SH_

_My behaviour isn't on trial here. -SH_

_No, it isn't. I was just trying to prove a point. I'm here, now where are you?-JW_

_Just walking up. Cab had to stop a while back. -SH_

_Lovely. Did you bring the umbrella?-JW_

_...Yes. -SH_

_Thank you.-JW_


	2. Business as Usual?

Sherlock splashed through a puddle on the pavement, walking up to the smaller man and holding the umbrella over him. "You didn't have to wait outside, John."

"I just got here. I didn't know where you'd be," John said, shaking slightly. The rain was incredibly cold.

"Well, we'd best get inside. Lestrade should be in there and if he's let Anderson touch anything, I will hit him with this umbrella."

"I bet he'd like that," John said snidely.

"John..." he said with a warning tone as he stepped inside the theatre building. John slipped an arm around Sherlock's waist. "Sorry. Couldn't resist." Sherlock furrowed his brow a bit and closed the umbrella, shaking the excess water off.

"What?" John asked.

"What?"

"What what? You're doing the look."

"What look?"

"The 'you're acting strange' look."

"You don't normally touch at crime scenes."

"I don't normally touch at all. You looked like you needed a hug and I wanted to apologise."

"When have I needed a hug?"

"You looked...right no-oh forget it."

"What, John?"

"You looked like you could use a hug. Right now. Forget it." He furrowed his brow deeper, then went further inside the building where CSU members were dusting down everything. John rolled his eyes behind Sherlock's back, following him. Lestrade greeted both of them and pointed the bodies out to Sherlock, saying he'd had them left as they were. Sally nodded to John.

"Hello Sally," John said. "Greg." He grinned over at John.

"Still living with the freak, I see." Sherlock's shoulders stiffened lightly, but otherwise he showed no sign that he'd heard her.

"Yes," John said stiffly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Might have gotten sick of all this...I dunno."

"Sick of what?"

"All the crime scenes, the running...the...ahem...cockblocking," she said delicately, knowing about John's inability to keep a steady relationship. John raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, that was none of your business."

"It's common knowledge round in the Met...and all the papers call you a confirmed bachelor."

"And again, not your business." She shrugged and Sherlock poked at the bodies, making mental notes. John left her to go kneel beside Sherlock. "What are we looking at?"

"Definitely not murder-suicide, though, I can see Anderson's handiwork on the bodies."

"I'm sure you can. Any leads?"

"I'm thinking crime of passion, though."

"Were either of them married?"

"No, and according to the others, neither had boyfriends," said Lestrade.

"Okay, so girlfriends?" He shook his head. Sherlock lifted the arm of one of the bodies. "No...not girlfriends...there is a man involved."

"Who, then?"

"Hmmm...I've narrowed it down to a fellow cast member...or the assistant director."

"How the...no, never mind. Later," John said, amazed.

"Meaning the cast is lying to you."

"About the boyfriend?" Lestrade asked. He nodded. "They know and they're covering for him."

"Why would they do that?" John asked.

"Most likely out of fear of bad publicity. The show is floundering enough."

"Well then, how do we find out who it is?"

"Find the third woman."

"Hang on, there's a third?" John asked, confused.

"And the killer."

"How do you know there's a third?"

"The bullet. It's a .22, most commonly used for smaller handguns used by ladies, also, there was hair pulling."

"That's interesting," Lestrade said. "I guess we'll call the cast back in to interview them."

"Single out the women. They gossip."

"Alright. Thanks. Also, Mycroft told me to get his umbrella back," Lestrade said, looking away. Sherlock stiffened and refused to make eye contact with the detective inspector. John put his hand on Sherlock's arm, pulling him back to the case. "Not here."

"You hand it to him then."

"Two year old."

"I can't look at him right now."

"Sherlock," John warned.

"What?"

"Just hand him the umbrella."

"I don't want to."

"Is there a problem?" Lestrade asked, confused.

"No...no..."

"Then why can't you hand me the umbrella?"

"John can."

"In one of your moods then?" Lestrade asked, shrugging.

"It's your fault," he said petulantly.

"Wha-how is it _my_ fault?"

"You engaging in...relations with my brother." Lestrade blanched. "He told you that?"

"Oh now you're just insulting me."

"Oh but I'm not."

"We're Holmeses. He didn't _need_ to tell me."

"Jesus." He took the umbrella and walked away quickly.

"Sherlock," John said sternly.

"What?"

"Was that necessary?"

"Slightly."

"No. It wasn't," John glared. Sherlock actually leaned back from John's glare.

"Now, are we done here?"

"For now. I've gotten all the information off the bodies I can."

"Then come on. We're going home. You bloody two year old."

"What? What did I do?"

"It was most certainly _not_ necessary to tell Greg you knew like that."

"Do you want me to apologise?"

"Yes." He sighed.

"Come on, then. Let's go."

"Go where?"

"Home, Sherlock," John said, raising an eyebrow. "Thought you had gathered that."

"I thought you wanted me to apologise first?"

"You can later. I can't make you."

"You've made me before."

"Touche. Just come on. I want to go home."

"All right." He stood, adjusting his coat and stripping off the latex gloves. John pulled off his gloves and strode out into the rain, hailing a taxi. Sherlock paused, looking at Greg oddly.

"Just...don't," Lestrade said, still red faced. He looked down. "I'm sorry." Lestrade frowned. "You...what?"

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything I did."

"Did John put you up to this?"

"No. Well...he said I should. But I decided to."

"Why? Are you ill?"

"Why do I have to be ill?"

"You never apologise."

"Well, I am now."

"Fine. Yeah. Apology...accepted."

"I wish you two the best."

"Erm...thank you."

"And I apologise also for assuming things. But I am still mad at you for making me not look at cake or umbrellas the same ever again. Have a good day." He left the building to follow John. Lestrade arched an eyebrow. Cake? Umbrellas? Shaking his head, he got back to the case.

"Thought you got lost," John said as Sherlock came up beside him.

"No. I stopped to apologise."

"You...what?"

"I apologised to Lestrade," Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"You never do what I say. Well, hardly ever."

"You said I should. Not that I had to. I chose to."

"Why did you choose to?"

"Because I saw that I did indeed hurt Lestrade."

"That's never bothered you before."

"Point is I have apologised."

"Okay then," John said, opening the door to the cab. Sherlock held it open for him.

"Thank you," John murmured.

"You're welcome." He slid in beside John and gave the address for Baker Street to the cabbie.

"I'm sorry about the cake and umbrella comments." He shrugged, looking out the window. John placed his hand on Sherlock's leg. "Are you okay?" He looked at the hand on his leg with a slight confused frown. John recoiled as if he had been burned. "Sorry."

"No...it's fine."

"You were frowning."

"You keep touching me."

"I don't mean to."

"How can you not mean to and do it?"

"It's subconscious. I don't think about it."

"You don't think about touching me?"

"No."

"Curiouser and curiouser."

"Lewis Caroll. Again."

"Good, John."

"I've read Caroll. I'm not stupid," John crossed his arms.

"I never said you were," Sherlock blinked.

"You don't have to."

"When have I ever called or implied that you were stupid, John?"

"At least once a week. You give me looks."

"Those looks are not because you're stupid."

"Could've fooled me," John muttered.

"I do not believe you're stupid. I respect you."

"Oh. Erm...thanks."

"Your skills as a doctor are second to none."

"Okay," John said awkwardly.

"And I'd much rather you be with me on cases than anyone at Scotland Yard."

"That's...nice." He just wished Sherlock would stop. Sherlock studied the smaller man."Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"No," John lied. "You're lying." "Yes."

"Why am I making you uncomfortable?"

"I...don't know how to take compliments."

"Even when it's the truth?"

"I can't see it," John shrugged.

"Then I guess I'll just have to show you." John frowned. "I don't understand." He touched John's hand. John flinched but didn't pull away. "What..." He slowly enveloped his hand in his.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes shuttered and he pulled back.

"Sherlock?" John asked, concerned.

"It's nothing." He looked out the window.

"Sherlock, look at me." He stared resolutely out the window. John placed his hand on Sherlock's leg, consciously this time. "Look at me?" His hand on his leg burned him and every muscle in his body tensed like a spring.

"Please look at me?" He slowly turned his head.

"Will you tell me what this is about?" John asked gently.

"It's silly."

"No it isn't. Come on. You can tell me." He kept his mouth shut. Reaching forward, John took Sherlock's hand.

His body locked up again.

"Sherlock," John murmured. The cab pulled up outside of Baker Street and he sprang out and up the stairs. John sighed and paid the cabbie, following after Sherlock. Sherlock locked himself in his room, throwing his coat and scarf on his desk chair.


	3. Running Away

"Sherlock," John called. "Come on. Please, talk to me?" He sat on his bed, knees tucked up. He almost...no...no...he wasn't going to...he couldn't say that...he couldn't push John away. John knocked on his door.

"Sherlock? I know you're there." He didn't answer, just held himself. John tried the door. Locked.

"Sherlock." He made a noise and buried his face in his knees. John sighed and went to the kitchen, pulling out a butter knife and taking his credit card out of his wallet. He returned to the door, working at the lock. Sherlock rocked gently on the bed. He'd hoped John would see it, but, the look he gave him in the cab...he knew it wasn't possible. After working for about five minutes, the door clicked open. "Jesus..." He spotted Sherlock on the bed.

"Sherlock?" He didn't look up, just rocked. John walked over to the bed, sliding in beside Sherlock and pulling him close. "Hey now. It's okay. You're okay." He stiffened at John's touch, his eyes going wide.

"Do you want to talk about it?" John asked quietly. He made another noise.

"Okay. You don't have to." John fell silent, holding Sherlock against his chest. Thoughts and emotions swirled in Sherlock's head, scaring him. He couldn't...he couldn't control it. He started to shake.

"I've got you. You're okay," John murmured.

"L-Let go..."

"Oh. Um. Okay." John rolled away. The detective's voice was thick with emotion, and he was shaking so hard he thought he was going to shake apart.

"Sherlock," John said gently. "What's wrong?"

"Everything...my head..."

"Let it out. Talk to me." He made another sort of wailing noise.

"Sherlock. Come on. Deduce it. Use your words."

"If I could find them, I would."

"Well, are they feelings? Emotions? Thoughts?"

"Confused."

"Confused. Okay. Confused about what?"

"This."

"This what?" John encouraged.

"Why are you in here?"

"Because I was worried about you."

"Why?"

"Because you seemed upset after the taxi ride." He was silent.

"Sherlock, you can tell me," John said quietly.

"What are we?"

"I don't understand."

"What. Are. We?"

"We're...humans? I'm a doctor and blogger and you're a consulting detective..." John said, confused. He sighed.

"Can you be a bit more specific?"

"We. Us. Together. Plural."

"Oh! Erm. Us. Together. I...don't know," John said honestly.

"Don't know," he repeated.

"I...we're friends. You're my _best_ friend. I feel very close to you." Something broke in him and he shut down.

"Sherlock," John said, slightly panicked. "Sherlock look at me. Talk to me." He remained in place, frozen. John knelt down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He didn't respond, just stared. John's hand moved from his shoulder to rest on his cheek. He brushed a thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone. Nothing. Leaning forward, he rested his forehead on Sherlock's. He just stared into space, holding himself.

"Talk to me, Sherlock," John murmured. John had broken him. Really truly smashed him. He was hoping John would have been clever enough to see it. See how he cared for him. But no. Taking a deep breath, hoping to elicit some kind of response, John moved, gently kissing Sherlock. His eyes widened and he shook violently. John pulled away immediately. "I'm sorry. I'm so...so sorry."

"Don't...don't t-t..." Sherlock bolted off the bed and out the door. John slid to the floor, his face in his hands. Sherlock ran out of Baker Street into the rain, not caring where he was headed.

_Sherlock, come back.-JW_

His phone trilled in his pocket but he couldn't bring himself to look at it.

_Sherlock, please.-JW_

He stopped when he ran out of breath. He looked up, he'd run straight to St. Barts...where he'd met John. Everything in him screamed to run away, but he went inside, straight to that lab.

_Sherlock...I need you.-JW_

He fell to his knees inside the room and curled in a ball against the wall. Sensing something was terribly wrong, John texted Mycroft.__

I can't find him. I kissed him and...he left. Didn't even take his coat.-JW  


_You what? -MH  
_

_Shut up. We can talk about that later. The point is /I can't fucking find him./ And I'm terrified.-JW  
_

_Dear god...-MH  
_

_Mycroft Holmes, find him now.-JW  
_

_Last time he did this...he ended up blitzed out of his mind. -MH  
_

_What do you mean? What the hell is going on?-JW  
_

_Last time he disappeared like this, before you showed up, Gregory ended up finding him in a ditch so high on drugs he couldn't walk straight. -MH  
_

_Why did he disappear?-JW  
_

_He couldn't handle his emotions. -MH  
_

_His...what?-JW  
_

_His emotions, John. Sherlock is not a robot. -MH  
_

_I know he's not. I've just never...did I set him off?-JW  
_

_He suppresses things that he doesn't understand. Or scares him. -MH  
_

_I have to find him, Mycroft. Where would he go?-JW  
_

_I...I don't know. -MH  
_

_You're the fucking British government! Use your resources!-JW  
_

_It took us three days to find him before. And that was with my resources. -MH  
_

_I know you watch him. At least look at the CCTV footage to see which direction he went when he left the flat.-JW  
_

_He headed south on Baker Street. -MH  
_

_Try the next camera.-JW  
_

_I lost him in the crowd, John. -MH  
_

_Dammit. South on Baker Street. Umm, I'll start at somewhere familiar. Headed to Bart's. I'll text when I get there.-JW_

He quickly called a cab.__

All right. Please find him. In this state he'll be harmful to himself. -MH


	4. Past Back to Haunt

_Come on, come on_, John willed the cab. The rain made traffic nearly impossible. However, fifteen minutes later, he was running into Bart's. Molly saw him run in and moved to say hello.

"Molly! Have you seen Sherlock?" he asked breathlessly.

"Umm...no...why?"

"Not important." He rushed past her. /Think/ John. The first time they had met. The lab. He headed there in a sprint.

"John?" Molly watched confused.

"Go, Molly. It's fine."

"O-Oh, okay..." she nodded meekly and went on about her business. He would have to apologise for that later. At the moment, all he cared about was finding Sherlock. Sherlock curled and shook against the corner, looking at the lab table. It would be simple for him to make something calm his nerves. John burst through the door to the lab, looking around the room. Finally. There. In the corner. "Sherlock," John said gently.

His head swam. He just wanted it to stop. All the uncertainty. Everything to just stop.  
John sank to the floor in front of Sherlock, pulling him close. "It's okay. I've got you. And there's no way in hell I'm letting go." He barely registered John's touch, slipping into unconsciousness on his own. Pressing a kiss to Sherlock's temple, John pulled out his mobile.

_Found him. Not doing well.-JW_

_Oh thank god. Did he take anything? -MH_

_I don't know. I don't think so.-JW_

_Has he harmed himself? -MH_

_No. Not physically. I think he's unconscious.-JW_

_Shit. -MH_

_What?-JW_

_He's done it again. -MH_

_Done /what?/-JW_

_Shut himself off. -MH_

_How do I get him back?-JW_

_I don't know. -MH_

_How did you do it the last time?!-JW_

_He woke up. -MH_

_How? When?-JW_

_We had him in the hospital and two days later he woke up with no memory of having gone under. -MH_

_I'll stay with him. No hospitals.-JW_

_John...-MH_

_What?-JW_

_Is he breathing? -MH_

John checked.

_Yes.-JW_

_Thank god. -MH_

_I've got him. I won't move him until you get here.-JW_

_I'm already on my way. -MH_

_Figured. Don't bring Greg.-JW_

_Why not? -MH_

_He's seen Sherlock like this before. -MH_

_I don't care. Leave him at home. The fewer people here the better.-JW_

_All right fine. -MH_

Sherlock stared ahead over John's shoulder, unblinking, his breath coming in shakes and starts. "It's alright," John murmured soothingly. "You're okay." He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair. He doesn't respond.

_I suggest shutting his eyes, so they don't dry out. -MH_

John gently closed Sherlock's eyes, holding him close. He decided just to talk. "Um...when I was in Afghanistan, there was this puppy," he said quietly. He laid there, limp like a rag doll.

"And he was incredibly dehydrated. My mates and I were sure that he was going to die. But I didn't give up on him. I put him in my bed with me every night, kept him warm," John went on. "See, nights in Afghanistan are actually really cold. I had to keep him warm at night." No response, just shaky breathing.

"It took three weeks for me to nurse him back to health. He nearly died twice. I stayed up all night with him. But when he did get better, he never left my side. I named him Lucky. It seemed fitting." John checked again to make sure Sherlock was still breathing. He was, but it was shallow.

"When I...um...when I got shot, he was there. He stayed with me until they came and rescued me." John's chest tightened at the memory. "He wouldn't let them come near me at first. But when he did finally let them near, one of my mates put him in his bag and carried him with me." Mycroft came, but waited by the door, not disturbing them yet.

"My mate, Bill...Bill told me after I got back here that they found him a nice home. He's happy." John brushed Sherlock's curls away from his face. He didn't hear John's voice, didn't feel his fingers in his hair, didn't feel anything. John realized Mycroft was at the door. He looked up, pained. "What do I do?"

"There's nothing you can do."

"So I'm just supposed to watch him like this?"

"He'll either wake up, or he won't."

John's eyes widened. "And what happens if he doesn't?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Then...he's gone."

"No," John said firmly. "I won't allow that to happen." He turned to Sherlock. "Dammit Sherlock, wake up. _Wake up_! You do _not_ get to do this to me."

"He can't hear you, John."

"I'll make him. Sherlock Sherrinford Holmes, wake the fuck up right now. Wake...please. Sher-I need you."

"It's a self-induced coma."

"I don't care what it is. I can't lose him."

"What was the last thing he said to you?"

"Don't know. Those were his words, not I don't know. He...um. He asked what we were."

"What did you tell him?" John swallowed. It was all his fault. "I told him I didn't know," he said, tears in his eyes.

"He cares about you, John. More than as a friend or flatmate. He doesn't know how to tell you."

"I do too. Jesus, I do."

"Well...he doesn't believe you do."

"I...I kissed him."

"And what did he do?"

"He froze." Mycroft sighed.

"And then he shook. And then he ran."

"You scared him."

"Because I kissed him?"

"Because he thought you were playing with him."

"He was frozen. I thought...I thought he might kiss back."

"It may surprise you to know that my brother is no stranger to relationships." John frowned. "Really?" He nodded. "Meaning he's been hurt before."

"Hurt how?" John asked carefully.

"People have hurt him."

"No, I mean...hurt _how_? Mentally? Emotionally? Um...physically?" He couldn't stand the thought of the last one.

"All three."

"No," John said quietly. "Jesus no." His grip tightened subconsciously.

"His first lover beat him sometimes." John blinked, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"He did his best to hide it from me, but one day he had been beaten unconscious."

"Um, Mycroft...was there ever..." he sighed. "Was Sherlock ever assaulted...um, sexually?"

"Once." John's hands made fists in Sherlock's shirt. He felt physically ill.

"The man never saw the light of day again."

"Good."

"My point is...this is his defense mechanism."

"He shuts down," John said quietly.

"To protect himself. Most likely began from his first lover's beatings."

"He must know...certainly he must know he doesn't have to protect himself from me."

"He's afraid. You hold his heart and don't even realise it."

"And he holds mine."

"He's afraid you'll not want him and smash him to pieces."

"Mycroft, I'm only saying this because I can't say it to him right now and I think you need to know. I love your brother." Mycroft closed his eyes, nodding.

"I know you do." John frowned. "Since when?" He smiled his secret Mycroft smile. "For a while. You wouldn't have put up with him this long if you didn't care for him somewhat."

"It's definitely more than somewhat."

"Good. He needs you."

"And I need him. And I need him to wake up."

"I can't do anything about that."

"I know," John mumbled. Mycroft sighed. "Should I get an ambulance?"

"Do we need one?"

"To take him to the hospital."

"Does he need it?"

"It wouldn't hurt. They can monitor his breathing and heartbeat." John closed his eyes and nodded. "I'm not leaving him."

"I don't expect you to."

"No need for an ambulance. Just get the paramedics down here. They're on the first floor, right side of the building." Mycroft nodded, leaving the two of them alone.

"Sherlock," John said quietly. "We're going to get you some help. But I promise. I'm not going to leave you. I'm never leaving you. You got worried, earlier, because I said I might not always be here. But I will, okay? I'm always going to be here." A single tear bubbled and fell from the man's eye. John saw it and brushed it away with his thumb. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. "I love you." More tears fell.__


	5. Hang On For Me?

_"Don't...Sherlock please don't cry," John said, distressed. He couldn't stop it. John pulled out his mobile._

_Mycroft, he's crying.-JW_

_That's never happened before. -MH_

_Shit. I don't know how to make it stop.-JW_

_I...I don't know...-MH_

Sherlock made a noise like a dying animal. "Sherlock, shhh, I've got you," John soothed. He made the noise again and tears kept streaming down his face.

_Mycroft, he's making a noise. It sounds incredibly distressed.-JW_

_I...He's never done this before, John. Usually he just lays there. -MH_

_Okay. Thanks.-JW_

John held Sherlock close, running soothing circles along his back. His eyes snapped open, staring ahead and suddenly he recoiled.

"Sherlock?" John asked, concerned. He put his arms up defensively, trying to fight John off.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to hurt you. Can you hear me?" He struggled. John didn't let go. He didn't know how Sherlock would react if he did and he didn't want to hurt him. He wrenched and pushed at John, crying out.

"Sherlock, you're okay. You're safe." He couldn't hear him, all he could feel was blow upon blow on him and he flinched away. John's arms locked around him. He wouldn't let go. He made the noise again and shoved John roughly. John tumbled backwards. "Shit," he said lowly. Sherlock bolted again.

"No. Sherlock!" John ran after him, reaching him at the stairs and grabbing around his waist.

"Don't touch me!"

"Sherlock, it's John. Don't...don't run."

"Let go!"

"No, Sherlock." He sobbed.

"It's okay, Sherlock. I swear. No one's going to hurt you." Dammit, where was Mycroft?

"Let go!"

"No."

"Stop, please..." John pulled him close against his chest. Sherlock screamed and wrenched out of his grip.

"Nope. No, Sherlock trust me." John pulled him back. He yelled again, trying to throw him off. John twisted them so he could sit on the stairs. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist. He panicked, his limbs flailing. Holding Sherlock with both legs and one arm, John dialed Mycroft. "I need you now!" he barked into the phone before hanging up. Mycroft was running up the stairs with a pair of paramedics.

"He started flailing," John explained, still struggling to hold him. "He thinks I'm going to hurt him." Sherlock saw Mycroft and his eyes filled with tears. "Myc...get him off me...please..."

"John...let him go." John immediately released him. Sherlock ran to Mycroft. John closed his eyes, tears streaming, and buried his face in his hands. Mycroft had the paramedics restrain and sedate Sherlock, then went to sit beside him. Even though he knew Sherlock couldn't see him, it had still hurt.

"John...don't let this get to you. He's stuck in his head."

"I know," John said thickly. He wiped his eyes. "I need to go with him."

"That may not be a good idea."

"I promised him I wouldn't leave."

"Yes and he wakes up to thinking you're the man who assaulted him."

"I'll be okay, Mycroft."

"John..."

"What?"

"I know you care for Sherlock...but...don't destroy yourself..."

"I'm not. I'm /fine/ Mycroft. And I'm not leaving him." The man sighed, pinching his nose. John rose and went over to Sherlock, holding his hand.

"You can't save him from himself." Sherlock was sleeping peacefully now under the effects of the sedation.

"I can try," John said defiantly.

"I've tried for years...and he hates me for it."

"As long as he stays alive, I don't care if he hates me." Mycroft regarded the man, then gave him a curt nod.

"I'll stay with him until he's in his right mind and he asks me to leave."

"I hope it doesn't come to that." Mycroft turned on his heel and walked away.

"Sherlock," John said to the sleeping man. "I know you're in there. And I would very much like to have you back." His face was smooth, unlined, no worries on his face. John leaned down and kissed him gently. "Take your time." The paramedics wheeled the gurney out to the waiting van and lifted it inside. John followed, never leaving Sherlock's side.

"Sir, you'll have to ride in the front."

"I...he's my...I'm a doctor."

"Is he your patient?"

"Yes." It wasn't exactly a lie. The paramedic nodded and let John ride in the back. John smoothed Sherlock's hair off his forehead. The female hopped in the back and her partner shut the doors. John refused to let Sherlock's hand go.

"I'm going to need some information for the records, simple things."

"Okay. Ask anything."

"Name?"

"Sherlock Holmes." Her eyebrow twitched, but other than that, she gave no indication of recognising the name. "Date of birth?"

"May 27, 1980."

"Address?"

"221B Baker Street."

"Does he have any allergies that you know of?"

"Cats."

"Good...we'll make sure the nurses are cat hair free." She managed a slight smile. John didn't smile.

"We will do what we can for him."

"Thank you," John said.

"Even if it is just making him comfortable..."

"Is there anything else?" John asked quickly, cutting her off.

"Just sign here saying we can treat him." She handed him the clipboard. John signed, balancing it on his knee.

"Thank you," she took the clipboard back, tucking it under her arm.

"Yeah." He turned his attention back to Sherlock.

"You two seem close."

"Is this necessary?" he snapped. She blinked, shocked. John relaxed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean...we are. Very close." She nodded stiffly.

"He's my best friend," John said thickly.

"You must care about him a lot then."

"I do. Very much."

"He's lucky...to have someone like you." John blinked. "Um...thank you." She gave him a smile, then settled back into the seat, holding on. John clasped Sherlock's hand between both of his own, silently willing him to wake up. She watched the two of them, sad for the blonde man.

"You're going to be okay," he murmured, tuning out everything and everyone else. Sherlock's hand was slightly cold in his.

"Sherlock, stay with me." His pulse slowed.

"No. No! Sherlock. Don't you dare leave me. I promised I wouldn't. You don't get to."

"What? What's he doing?"

"Pulse is slowing." The girl sprang into action, rifling through clear cabinets for a epi-pen. John held his fingers against Sherlock's wrist, counting.

"Is it slowing worse?"

"Holding steady." She sighed in relief. John bent over Sherlock, resting his head on Sherlock's chest, feeling his heart beating. She got out an epi-pen, just in case.

"Sherlock," he whispered. "I know you're in there. And I really want you to wake up. But if you can't wake up right now, then at least keep on fighting." His pulse picked up.

"There you go. You're doing great." He turned his head to kiss Sherlock's chest, over his heart. The girl looked away.

"Come on. Open your eyes. Please, Sherlock. Do it for me."

"We're almost there, couple more minutes," the driver called back.

"Okay," John said distantly.

"We'll get him into a room quick as we can."

"Thanks." She nodded. John's phone went off for a text. John opened his phone, never letting go of Sherlock.

_I'm here at the hospital, arranging a private room. -MH_

_Still with him. He's hanging on.-JW_

_Good. Has he woken up? -MH_

_Not since.-JW_

_I suppose all we can do is hope for the best. I'll see you when you get here.. -MH_

_Yeah.-JW_

The ambulance pulled up outside the hospital and the two paramedics wheeled Sherlock inside. John walked alongside them, holding Sherlock's hand. Mycroft was waiting for them along with Greg inside the private room. John glared up at him. "I told you..." Mycroft started, "John..."

"What?!"

"I..." Greg stepped in. "Don't get mad at Myc."

"Cute," John sneered. "He doesn't need a bunch of people here."

"I hardly think we count as a bunch of people, John."

"Fine. He doesn't need anyone more than necessary."

"I consider myself necessary, John. He's as good as a son to me." John looked down. "Fine." Greg looked at Sherlock on the bed after the paramedics had lifted him from the gurney onto the sheets. John realized their hands were still twined together and stared over at Greg, daring him to say anything.

"I always knew." He rolled his eyes. "Jesus, was it really obvious to /everyone/ but me?"

"You're the only one he doesn't try to chew up and spit out." John shrugged. He couldn't deny that.

"As soon as Myc told me I ran here." John tried not to curl his nose at the nickname.

"I'm sorry, John, but you need us."

"I know," John sighed.

"If they do have to...put him under..." Mycroft started.

"No."

"John."

"What?" John asked, his voice pained.

"They may have to."

"I know."

"Myc...they also said they may have to last time and he pulled through..."

"I just need him better."

"I know that. It all depends on how badly he wants to come back."

"How can I make him want to come back?"

"I don't know."

"Last time we took turns, staying and holding his hand," Greg chimed in.

"I'm not leaving him," John said stubbornly.

"John, your job?"

"I'll call in sick. Sarah will understand. Family emergency." Mycroft considered him curiously. "What?"

"You said family emergency and he isn't your family."

"Yes he is."

"No he's not."

"Dammit, yes he is. He's close enough to it, anyway." The man studied him, then conceded. John stared at Mycroft, daring him to say anything else. Mycroft stayed silent and the only sounds were the steady breathing of the men in the room and the beeps of the heart monitor they had attached to Sherlock.


	6. Let Me Say It

"Mycroft? Be honest with me. How likely is it that he'll wake up?"

"Estimate? Less than half." John's heart sank and his grip on Sherlock's hand tightened. "I can't let that happen."

"There's nothing you can do but make him comfortable," Mycroft said simply, wishing it weren't so.

"I...dammit." John leaned down close to Sherlock. "I need you. I need you so you can't die because I love you." Greg grabbed Mycroft's arm and tugged him out to give John space.

"Sherlock, I promised you I wouldn't leave. You were afraid I would and I didn't understand, but I do now and I need you to stay. If I have to, you have to," John murmured. There was a slight movement under Sherlock's eyelids.

"Why did you pull me out?" Mycroft rounded on Greg.

"John needs space," he said simply.

"John could have had space with us there," Mycroft said shortly. "He's my brother."

"I know Mycroft, but...he needs John more than us," Greg said placatingly.

John stared down at Sherlock, not wanting to get his hopes up. "Sherlock?" John asked quietly. "Are you trying to wake up?" There it was again, and the hand in John's tightened.

"Sherlock please. Open your eyes," John said hopefully.

"Can't." John jumped at the sound. "Oh thank god," he said quietly. "Why can't you?"

"Too heavy."

"I don't understand," John said, rubbing Sherlock's hand.

"Heart. Hurts."

"Sherlock, I know. I know you hurt. But you don't have to. You asked what we were and I was stupid. Sherlock, I love you," John said gently. The heart monitor spiked, then flatlined.

"Fuck! Mycroft!" John called. "Sherlock fucking Holmes you get back here." He immediately started chest compressions. Mycroft ran inside, yelling for a nurse. "What happened?"

"Told him," John said, clamping Sherlock's nose and doing mouth to mouth.

"You really must stop doing that," he sighed as a nurse wheeled a defibrillator in the room.

"I thought it would help!" John shouted, moving out of the nurse's way.

"Well, clearly it didn't! " Mycroft yelled back and Greg came in, holding him back.

"Clear." The nurse rubbed the paddles and held them to Sherlock's chest. No response. Twice more. Nothing.

"Sherlock, dammit, I did _not_ lose you once just to lose you again! Wake up!" John yelled hysterically.

"Mycroft, you're not going to help things by shouting at John," Greg soothed.

The nurse tried once more, but got nothing. "We may have to call it," she said, looking at Mycroft.

"Sherlock please," John begged, tears streaming down his face. "Please come back. I can't do this without you. You said danger...dammit Sherlock."

"I can try one more time, but we will have to call it after that," the nurse said.

"One more," John said firmly. _Sherlock, if you don't make this, neither am I_, he thought. The nurse charged the paddles and shocked him again. There was no response and the nurse opened her mouth to pronounce it,then there was a faint beep.

"Sherlock," John breathed, his throat tight. His hand tightened in Sherlock's. The heart monitor picked up to a steady rhythm.

"Thank god." John wiped his face with his free hand. Sherlock's hand tightened around John's fingers reflexively. John squeezed back, determined not to say anything this time. The nurses filed out and Mycroft shut the door.

"Sherlock...umm. Please open your eyes?"

"Why?"

"Because I need to see them. I need to see you awake," John said desperately.

"Why?"

"I can't, Sherlock. I can't say it or you'll...dammit, you _died._ You fucking flatlined."

"John."

"What?"

"Don't...hate me."

"I can't hate you, Sherlock. It's impossible."

"Nothing's...impossible." John grinned. "Flying without assistance is impossible. Hating you is not." Tears formed in his still closed eyes.

"Don't cry, Sherlock. Please. I don't hate you."

"I'm...sorry."

"Hey," John soothed. "Don't apologize. You were afraid."

"Didn't...want you to...go..."

"I'm not going anywhere. I promise, Sherlock. I'm not going to leave," John said gently. He gripped John's hand tightly.

"Will you flatline again if I hug you?" John asked cautiously. No response, just the steady grip on his hand.

"I won't try it," John said quietly. He ran his free hand over Sherlock's arm, just barely touching him.

"I ran. I just keep running."

"Then I'll run with you," John murmured. "I've done it before. It's nothing new. The night we chased the cabby. I'll keep doing it."

"Together?"

"Together. Yeah. I promise. I'm not going to leave you." He struggled to open his eyes.

"There you go," John said gently. "Come on. I know you can look at me." His eyes filled with tears. Sherlock was okay. At least for now. Mycroft held his breath and gripped Greg's hand tightly. Sherlock blinked slowly.

"Please, Sherlock?" John asked quietly. "I need to see your eyes." He blinked and turned his head, looking at him unblinkingly. John couldn't stop himself from leaning forward and hugging Sherlock. "Jesus don't you ever do that to me again," he said shakily. His voice was thick with emotion. He blinked and tears splashed down his cheeks.

"John?" The detective furrowed his brow, confused.

"Yeah?" John asked, wiping his eyes.

"What's going on? Why are we at the hospital?" John looked over at Mycroft and Greg for help and Greg walked over. "Sherlock, you had another...um, you did it again. You shut down. You flatlined once," Greg explained.

He blinked. "Again? What did it this time?"

"I did," John said quietly. "I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

He furrowed his brow deeper. "I don't...I don't understand."

"How much do you remember? What's the last thing you remember happening?" John asked.

"The...leaving the theatre..."

"Okay, well we were in the cab and I kept accidentally touching you and you took my hand. And we...I didn't understand why you did. And then I tried to talk to you and you shut down. I tried to get you to talk and...I kissed you," John said, swallowing hard. "You ran away. To Bart's. And I came after you. You tried to fight me."

"I don't...I don't remember any of that." His blood actually ran cold.

"It's okay," John said, running his thumb across Sherlock's hand. "You flatlined when I told you..." he took a deep breath. "When I told you I love you." He froze again, his mind trying to catch up with what John just said.

John recognized the look in Sherlock's eyes. "No," he said gently. "Stay with me. Get out of your head. You're okay." He swallowed, looking at John like a scared bunny.

"You don't have to say anything. I don't expect anything." He brushed his thumb across Sherlock's cheek. "I just wanted you to know."

"You can't...you can't seriously..."

"Sherlock, it's okay. I do, but it's okay. You don't have to do anything. Please don't run again," he asked quietly. Searching John's face, he nodded, then leaned forward, firmly pressing his lips to John's. _Oh thank god_, John thought, kissing back. His hand cupped Sherlock's cheek.

"Myc," Greg murmured. "Come on. John's got everything under control. We could at least give them some privacy." He tugged gently in Mycroft's arm. Mycroft looked at them and followed Greg. Sherlock's hands came up to John's hair.

"Do you believe me now?" John asked against Sherlock's lips. "Because I promise you. I am never going to leave you."

"I didn't know how to say it..."

"I know. It's okay. Everything's okay," John soothed. His hand ran through Sherlock's hair, comforting him. "You just scared me. I don't think I've ever been so scared. Well. Once," he said remembering the day three years ago. "But this...I lost you once, Sherlock. I couldn't do that again."

"I'm sorry..."

"I know you are. But there's no need to be. You couldn't help it. Either time," John said quietly.

"I could...I could have..." his pulse jumped.

"Sherlock," John warned. "Don't. Please. I don't want you to work yourself up. We are okay. I promise you."He wrapped a hand around the back of John's neck and rested his forehead on his. "I never wanted to hurt you at all."

"I know you didn't, Sherlock. I know. I've always known." It was the truth. "Even when I was so angry when you came back, I was never anything but so, so grateful to have you back."

"You...you're...my..." he struggled with the right words.

"Take your time," John said gently.

"Everything."

"And you are mine," John said seriously. "And I can't live without you."

"I don't want to."

"Don't want to what?" John asked, holding his breath. Certainly he didn't mean he didn't want to live with John. "Do you mean you don't want to live without me?" He nodded.

"I'm happy about that." John brushed the hair out of Sherlock's eyes.

"I could live without you...but I don't want to." He looked John in the eyes. "Those...years...all I focused on was getting back to you...keeping you safe..."

"I know you did," John murmured. "Thank you for that." He nodded, putting a hand on John's chest.

"If I tell you now will you die on me?" John asked hesitantly.

"Tell me what, John?"

"How I feel."

"I will not die on you."

"I love you, Sherlock," John said quietly. "I love you so much." His heart swelled and he kissed John. He easily gained control of the kiss, keeping it light and gentle. The taller man put all of the swirling feelings in his head into that kiss. When they finally pulled apart, John brushed his fingers against Sherlock's cheek. "I know."

"I'm sorry."

"I know that too. But I forgive you."

"You're too nice to me, John," he said, resting his forehead on his shoulder.

"You saved my life, I saved yours," John murmured, cradling the back of Sherlock's head. His eyes started to slip closed.

"Sherlock, no," John said, panicking. "Don't go to sleep."

"But I'm tired..."

"I know, just...let me make sure you can." He pressed the call button on the side on the bed.

"I know I can sleep, John...it's a basic human bodily function..."

"Sherlock. I mean if you're allowed to. I don't want you going under again."

"M'not going to..." he protested, his voice thick and slurred a bit.

"Sherlock, just let me check with the nurse."

"Not when I have something to live for," he mumbled, his eyes slipping closed again. John sighed. "Okay, Sherlock. Just live for me."

"Always for you." John smiled. "Sleep, Sherlock. I'll still be here when you wake up." He took his hand and squeezed it, slipping off to sleep.

Outside in the waiting room, Greg held Mycroft's hand tightly. "He made it through, Myc. He's going to be okay."

"God I hope so...if John hurts him again, I swear-"

"Again? John didn't hurt him. Not intentionally, anyway. He was scared. He didn't know what to do and he just shut down."

"Sherlock is delicate! He's always been hard at expressing feelings! But I will not allow him to be hurt again! You saw him after that...the incident..."

Greg pressed a kiss to Mycroft's temple. "Sherlock's not some wilting flower, love. Yes, he has trouble with it. And yes, I saw him. It was terrible. But you know John. He would never hurt Sherlock."

"I...I'd hoped this would never happen with John."

Greg's eyes narrowed. "Why? He's a good person. As good as anyone for Sherlock. You knew what he was like before John."

"Yes...you've had to remove him from plenty a ditch in a drug induced haze. I just...last time I was so scared I was going to lose him. He's the only family I have left, Gregory." Greg pulled him into a hug. "I know, Myc. I know. I'm afraid for him too. But look at how John looks at him."

"Like I look at you." Greg nodded. "And I, you. He really loves Sherlock. He has for a while."

He sighed. "Sherlock, surprisingly, loves too easily..."

"I know. It doesn't take a lot for him to love, but when he does...and he's scared."

"Can you blame him?! His first relationship ended in him being beaten nearly to death!"

"Mycroft, calm down," Greg soothed, holding him close. "I know how his first relationship ended. And I don't blame him. We're on the same side, here."

"I know...I know."

"We're going to keep him safe. I promise. He's got three people who love him to take care of him." The politician nodded.

"Come on. Let's go back in there. I think we've given them enough privacy and I think you need to see him," Greg said, pulling Mycroft to his feet. He held onto Greg's arm. Greg knocked twice on Sherlock's door, giving him and John plenty of time to pull apart. When they entered, Sherlock was sleeping. "He's not been like this for very long," John said quietly, trying not to disturb him.

"He looks so peaceful..."

"He..." John swallowed hard. "He promised me he wouldn't go back under."

"He's going to stay for a few days," Mycroft said authoritatively. John raised an eyebrow. "I take it this happened last time?" he asked, his eyes darting between Greg and Mycroft.

"I made him stay until we were sure he was in no danger of relapse."

"Did he sleep naturally or did you have them give him a sedative?" John asked, somewhere between friend and doctor modes.

"The first night he needed a sedative, and he would still wake up screaming in pain." Mycroft shivered at the memory.

"Pa-oh," John winced, remembering the cause of the last time he went under. "He...will he need it now?"

"He's sleeping quietly...so...I don't see why he should."

"And you said he'll sleep for a few days? Why?"

"No, he's staying for a few days. Until we're sure everything's okay."

"Oh." John breathed a sigh of relief. "Do you know how long he'll sleep?"

"Probably on and off for a day or two." John nodded. "Okay." He hesitated before continuing. "I think...I think we're okay."

"You...and Sherlock?"

"Yeah. We talked a bit, before he went to sleep."

"Good...what did he say?"

"He said..." John looked away. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"John?" Mycroft fretted a bit.

"Myc," Greg said softly, placing a hand on Mycroft's arm.

"No, it's...it's okay," John said. "He just...we worked things out. He apologised for hurting me. I told him. And this time he didn't flatline."

"Good...good..." he let out a breath.

"So I think we're going to be okay."

"That's...good to hear..." John sighed. "You still don't trust me do you?"

"I don't trust anyone who hurts my family." John bristled. "I never /meant/ to hurt Sherlock. And you know what, he hurt me too. Three years, Mycroft. And you /knew./ So don't you dare talk to me about hurting your brother. You both hurt me."

"It was to protect your life," his voice raised.

"I don't give a damn. It still hurt. I went for three years thinking my best friend was dead. That I would never get to tell him how I felt. Every good thing in my life was gone." John had never gotten to talk about this. Not even after Sherlock had come back. "I never /cared/ about my life without Sherlock. Greg knows." He distinctly remembered a call made at midnight. Greg rushing him to the hospital. His stomach getting pumped. Sherlock laid still in the bed, listening, his eyes still closed.

"So yes, it hurt. And I'm sorry if I hurt him, but things are okay now, so keep your nose out of it," John finished.

"John?" Sherlock opened his eyes.

"Sherlock," John started. "No...that wasn't...I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to hear that."

"You...oh god...I..."

"Sherlock, breathe. We're okay now. We're alright. I told you. I forgive you." He trembled. John pulled him close, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I promise you. We're okay. Please believe me."

"I'm sorry..." he buried his face in John's chest, shaking.

"I know," John murmured, stroking his hair. "I know you are." He glared up at Mycroft. He balled his fists in John's jumper.

"I promise you, we're okay. I'm not mad. I'm not even hurt anymore because you came back. And that's all that matters." He nodded into his chest, but didn't let him go.

"I've got you," John soothed. "I won't let go." He looked over at Greg. "Get out," he mouthed, raising his eyebrows. "Take him with you." He looked at Mycroft, trying to convey his message without actually speaking. Greg nodded, grabbing Mycroft's arm and tugging him out. Sherlock barely looked up as the DI dragged his brother out.

"What was that for?" Mycroft rounded on Greg. "He needed us in there."

"No. He didn't."

"Yes he did! I'm not just going to stand out here while John Watson hurts my little brother!"

"He's not hurting him. You are." Mycroft's eyes flashed. "Watch yourself Gregory. I may do many things, but I do _not_ hurt my baby brother."

"John didn't tell Sherlock that for a reason. You made him bring it up in front of him...how was he supposed to react?"

"I didn't _make_ him do anything! He offered that information freely!"

"You drove him to it!"

"By what?! All I told him was that he was hurting Sherlock!"

"I'm...Myc...give them space. You have to deal with the fact that Sherlock has someone in his life that's not going to beat him or hurt him."

"He _has_ people in his life that don't hurt him. Me. You. And dammit John _hurt_ him. Sherlock doesn't know how his feelings work."

"Mycroft!" Greg raised his voice against him, something he never did. Mycroft recoiled. "Gregory, there is no need for that."

"There is when you won't listen to me. John loves Sherlock. More than anything. Why won't you just accept that?"

"Because my brother is different. He's different than everyone else. He's extraordinary. But he isn't like most. And John will eventually come to hate that about him."

"I think he's done pretty well so far, considering everything that's happened between them."

"He doesn't know everything about Sherlock."

"I don't either, but he's like a son to me."

"Yes but you don't have the potential to hurt him like John does."

"Mycroft. Leave John alone. He's been through enough. He's had to deal with Sherlock dying twice on him. Okay? Lay off him."

"Did you ever think that I did too?" Mycroft asked quietly.

"I know...I know you did...Myc...but...you can't blame John."

"Well he sure as hell didn't jump for me," Mycroft said bitterly.

"You don't know that."

"He told me himself. Three bullets. Three victims. I was not among them."

"You're well protected, Mycroft. That doesn't mean he didn't think of you."

"Right. Doesn't mean it didn't hurt."

"Mycroft...there's no doubt that Sherlock loves you. Even in his own strange way, he cares. Jim Moriarty pointed those guns. Sherlock had no control over who they were pointed at."

"Jim Moriarty knew who Sherlock loved. And it was not me he chose. It was you. And John. And even his landlady."

"Stop...okay? Do you think I like the idea that Sherlock jumped to keep a bullet out of my head? No! Because I wasn't worth the effort to begin with!"

"Don't," Mycroft flinched. "Don't you dare say that."

"I'm not...I'm more his...babysitter!" Mycroft's expression hardened. "What happened to 'like a son?'" he asked coldly.

"I feel like he's my son. He thinks I'm his babysitter."

"Very clearly not. He was willing to die for you."

"You weren't there at Baskerville...he accused you of sending me to "handle" him."

"Gregory, you can't deny the fact that you were one of the three. That says more than you know," Mycroft said quietly.

"Should have been someone else." He faced the wall. Mycroft turned him around and pulled him close. "You didn't make that call. He did. So according to him, there was no one else."

"Myc...Moriarty pointed the guns...not Sherlock..."

"Sherlock chose who. Unconsciously, but he did. He cares so much more about you than he lets on. He considers you a friend."

"Yet he loves to insult me at every turn...odd way of showing it." Mycroft looked skeptically at Greg. "He does that with everyone. He does that with me and you say he cares about me."

"You're his brother. You make it your goal in life to protect him...as much as he says it annoys him...he's grateful for it."

"And you helped save his life and gave him a purpose again. He sees you as a sort of father figure."

"Your father must have been really shit cause I suck at being a dad." Mycroft flinched. "He was." He noticed Mycroft flinch and swore in his head. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to..."

"It's alright, Gregory. Just a bit of a sore spot in our family. Of course it was worse for Sherlock."

"What happened?" Mycroft shook his head. "At some point I will tell you. However, not now."

"Was it...oh god..." Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Was it what?"

"He didn't...abuse him, did he?"

"If you're asking if my father beat my brother, the answer is yes," Mycroft said stiffly. "He was always a... temperamental man. Unfortunately my brother got the worst of it, since I was at school."

"Shit..."

Mycroft nodded once. "And that's all I will say on that today. At any rate, you are a much better father figure to Sherlock than you know. And you're not a terrible father. Emma and Rebecca both love you very much."

"If my ex-wife's not feeding them lies about me."

"They still love you," Mycroft said firmly.

"Becca said her mother told them I left."

"Then we'll just have to set them straight. I'll talk to Emily. She'll see it's in her best interests not to lie to the girls," Mycroft said, his voice steely.

"Myc...that's...no."

"Yes. And that's final. I won't hurt her, I assure you."

"It's not going to help."

"I think it will."

"Emily is a shrew. Okay? And I'm tired of fighting with her."

"You forget, Gregory, I have ways. You wouldn't fight with her after this. And you would get to see the girls."

"You scare me sometimes." Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Do you /want/ to see your daughters or not?"

"I wanted custody, but I gave up on that years ago. The court won't recognise that Emily's borderline OCD."

"I could arrange for you to get at least partial custody. It would be no trouble."

"Myc...if you could do that, I would love you forever." Mycroft smiled tightly. "I can. But I should hope you would anyway."

"Of course I do, Myc..." he wrapped his arms around him, nuzzling his shoulder. Mycroft held Greg close. "I'll have Anthea look into it."

"Thank you, Mycroft."

"You're welcome Gregory. I want to get to know them, if we're...well, going to stay together for a while." He would be a sort of father figure to them. Much like a step-father, he guessed. And surprisingly, he was excited about that.

"Was that...a backwards way of saying you want to get married someday?" Mycroft coloured. "Possibly."

Greg grinned, kissing him. "Yes." Mycroft managed a small smile. "Was that a yes you will?"

"That's a yes, I'd do it today if you wanted." Mycroft smiled. "Then will you?"

"Yes." Mycroft pressed a quick kiss to Greg's lips. "This wasn't how I had planned to go about it."

"You were planning it?" Mycroft sighed. "Yes. For a while." Greg kissed him slow and sweet. One of Mycroft's hands went to cup Greg's cheek, while the other went around his waist. He smiled. "So was I."

Mycroft grinned. "How long?"

"A while."

"Me too. I didn't think it'd be like this, though."

"To be honest...I'd planned on taking you out to our favourite place..."

"We could still do that," Mycroft said. "This could be...unofficial."

"Well, it'll be hell of a lot less nerve-wracking already knowing the answer..." Mycroft smiled. "I would say it would. Although seeing as how I asked, I believe you already do."

"I just want to do it properly is all...ring and...on one knee and everything."

"I would be okay with that."

"I'm a traditionalist...sorry..." he shrugged.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Gregory," Mycroft smiled. "Mother will be delighted."

"Okay...not to be rude or anything, but this isn't about your mother, Myc. This is about you and me."

Mycroft's smile slipped. "I know it isn't. I was thinking about the wedding."

"Oh...sorry...I'm...I'm just a bit twitchy where...parents are concerned...I was never the boyfriend you wanted to take home..."

Mycroft squeezed Greg's hand. "Well now you are. At least to me. I don't see why I shouldn't be very proud to take you home."

"You've seen the pictures. I was a punk. My own dad's surprised I'm on the force..."

"You've changed," Mycroft said quietly. "You're not the same person you were then." He looked down at his shoes. Mycroft took Greg's chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, forcing him to look Mycroft in the eye. "You are a fantastic person. You're a detective inspector, you've got two wonderful daughters, and I love you. I don't care who you were. I care about who you are."

Greg smiled softly. "You really know how to spoil a guy."


	7. Pudding

Sherlock held onto John tightly. "Why didn't you say anything?"

John sighed. "I knew why you did it. I didn't want to burden you with what had happened while you were gone. It was easier to keep it all inside."

"John. I...I love you...and...if...you're hurting, I want to know."

"I'm okay now, Sherlock," John murmured, running his hand through Sherlock's hair. "I promise. Yes, it hurt when you were gone, but now you're not and I...I just want to forget those years existed."

"Is it not good if I say I do too?"

"No, it's very good. It means we're on the same page. Let's just say I was a mess and leave it at that." He nodded slowly and held John closer. To think he almost lost him...while believing he was protecting him.

"Greg helped me through a pretty rough time. He was a good friend. I needed that," he said quietly. His body stiffened and guilt gripped him, a feeling he'd never felt before John, and it scared him a bit. So much for high functioning sociopath.

"Sherlock, it's okay," John murmured. "You're here now. And that's really all I ever wanted. I just wanted you back and you are."

"And I swear I am never going anywhere."

"I believe you. I'm so sorry you had to hear that. I thought...I thought you were asleep," John said lamely.

"I was..." John's eyes narrowed. "Then how did you hear it?"

"I was asleep, but I was waking up."

"So you were half awake. I'm still...so sorry."

"No. I caused it." He linked their fingers and brought their hands to his mouth, lightly kissing John's fingers.

"I didn't want you to hear it. You feel bad enough. You don't need this stress." John rubbed his thumb over Sherlock's knuckles.

"John...Mycroft didn't even tell me..."

"Mycroft didn't know," John said gently. "There was one person in the world who knew and it was only because I stupidly called him in the middle of the night."

"You needed someone," he gripped his hand. "I'd much rather you have someone."

"I didn't want him."

"John..." John looked up, eyes pained. "You really don't want to know."

"I'm sorry..."

"I know. You don't have to keep apologising. I know you're sorry," John soothed.

"I never meant to hurt anyone. I just didn't want anyone to die because of me."

"I know you didn't. But you said danger and...well, I came. I knew what I was getting into."

"So much for me being a sociopath," he muttered.

"I knew you weren't," John smiled. "I always knew." He smiled, then sobered.

"What is it?" John asked, concerned.

"He said he'd burn my heart out..."

"Oh Sherlock," John soothed. "He didn't. He didn't succeed. He didn't win."

"You spent three years believing I was dead...I spent three years thinking he'd lied. That's why Mycroft kept such a close eye on you."

"Thinking he'd lied? About what?"

"That the only way to protect you was to die. That once I was dead, there was no stopping his gunmen."

"But you took them all out," he said gently. "You took down his web."

"There was one who kept eluding me." John's eyes widened. "Is...is he still alive?"

"Last I heard...no. But he was Moriarty's right hand man. I found out later that he was the one he'd set on you."

"It's okay then. He's gone. There's nothing to worry about anymore." He stayed quiet for a moment, staring into space.

"What is it?" John asked, holding Sherlock close. He blinked. "What?"

"You have your thinking face on." He smiled lightly. "That's my face."

"Fine. Just...don't hide anything from me, okay? I can take it."

"I won't. Not again." He kissed John's hand. John rested his head on top of Sherlock's. "I believe you."

"Thank you for not believing him." John felt his throat go tight. "I didn't. Even...even when you told me to. I couldn't do it."

"You're the only one...thank you."

"Mycroft didn't. But he knew. And I think Greg came around. Mrs. Hudson never doubted you. I told everyone. They didn't believe me either."

"They'd swallowed his lie, like a dog swallows a pill wrapped in cheese." John shook his head. "No. I mean...you told me to tell everyone that you were a fake. I did. Not convincingly and they didn't believe me. Well, a few at the Yard did. I broke Anderson's nose." He flinched at the memory. "I still can't look at him. Greg...Greg was sorry. God. He was drunk more days than not. We needed each other, I guess, as much as I didn't want to."

"Donovan and Anderson have always hated me. That was never going to change."

"It felt good. Breaking his nose. I'd do it again. And if I were to ever hit a woman, it would be Donovan."

"They did what Moriarty wanted them too."

"They did what _they_ wanted to," John snarled.

"John...their opinions of me were never going to change."

"It was obvious, even to me that you weren't a fake. And to them. I mean, look at the shoe sizes in the last case. The one with the missing kids. And besides that you had alibis for all of the cases. And I would have known if you'd hired anyone. They could have looked at your fucking bank statements," John fumed.

"John, stop," he said quietly.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I've...not exactly been able to talk to anyone about it."

"I...I know..."

"I missed you. More than you will ever know."

"Not a day went by when I wasn't pestering Mycroft for news...or...visiting my grave when you were there." John frowned. "You...you saw? How much did you hear?"

"You telling me to not be dead." John shook his head slowly. "There was so much more than that. Things I didn't say...couldn't say while you were...alive."

"Like what?"

"How much I needed you...how much I loved you...the things I missed about you." He gripped his hand tightly.

"I didn't realize...until I lost you. You were my best friend, but I loved you. God, I still love you."

"I love you too...why I died..."

"I know. Although you didn't just die for me."

"You were the first one I thought of. Always the first one." John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's head. "Thank you." He closed his eyes, leaning into him.

"What do you want to do, when we go home? How do you want to do things?" John asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" He opened his eyes, looking at him.

"Well," John looked away. "Are we a couple?" He touched his face, turning his face. "Yes." John smiled. "Good. I'm glad you wanted to be."

"I was afraid you didn't want to be."

"I have loved you for three years. Granted you didn't know that, but I can safely say that yes. I want to be." Sherlock leaned up and kissed him softly.

"How long do you think your brother will want you to stay here?"

"Probably until he's had every test run on me he can think of." John sighed. "How long did that take last time?"

"I don't remember."

"Sorry," John murmured. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see." He pressed close. "I don't trust doctors..." John smiled. "You trust one. And seeing as how I _am_ actually your doctor, I'll make sure you don't have to do anything you don't want." Sherlock rested his head with his ear over John's chest, smiling lightly. "That's true. Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. I just want you home. I was actually against this. The hospital. But seeing as how you died, I'm glad Mycroft made you come." He shook a bit.

"You're okay. Just breathe," John said reassuringly. "We're okay. Your brother was right, for once."

"I...I couldn't stop it...I couldn't do anything...it just...everything...black..."

''Shh, it's alright. That must've been frightening." He nodded into his chest.

"Are you okay now?" John asked, concerned.

"I should be..."

"Yes, but _are_ you okay?" John asked. He nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Promise you'll tell me if you're not?" He nodded again.

"Thank you, love," John murmured.

"I...like that..."

"Like what?" John asked, stroking Sherlock's hair.

"You calling me love." He pressed into John's hand. John smiled. "I like calling you love." He looked up, smiling lightly.

"Do you think you can eat anything?" He shook his head. "Don't want anything."

"Sherlock, you need to eat."

"I'm fine. Don't need anything."

"Sherlock, you've not eaten since Saturday," John said gently. "It's Tuesday." He shook his head again.

"Please," John asked. "Just a bit. Nothing solid."

"I don't need it."

"Yes you do. Please, Sherlock, for me." He looked at him reproachfully.

"Why don't you want to eat?"

"I don't need it."

"Mycroft will let you go home sooner if you eat."

"That's playing dirty."

"That's bargaining. And pleading. And showing you why I'm right. Maybe it is a bit dirty, but I want you well, dammit."

"I am well!" John sighed. "You still need to eat. Doctor's orders."

"Also playing dirty...fine." John relaxed. "Thank you. It doesn't have to be much."

"I like pudding." John grinned. "You would. Sticky toffee okay with you?"

"No chocolate?" John rolled his eyes, smiling. "I'll see what I can do." He would make the damn pudding himself if it meant Sherlock would eat.

"Thank you." He kissed his cheek. John pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft, asking about pudding.

Greg looked up. "Your phone, Myc..." Mycroft looked down and smiled. "We need to find pudding."

"Pudding? Seriously?" He raised an eyebrow "Who wants pudding at this hour?"

"My brother. The only thing he'll eat right now. I'm surprised John got him to agree to anything."

"Chocolate pudding...what is he, six?" Mycroft shrugged. "If he's eating, I won't question it."

"Fine...let's go." He turned.

"Why pudding?" John asked.

"I like it."

"Yeah but what about it do you like?"

"It...it reminds of summers at the house on the lake..."

John smiled gently. "Of course you would have a lake house."

"Shut up..." he mumbled, blushing.

"Can we go there sometime?" He looked up and smiled. "I'd love to take you there."

"What's it like there?" John asked quietly.

"Quiet. Peaceful. I remember playing in the woods by the water as a boy."

"No doubt deducing everything you could," John said with a smile. He could see it. A young Sherlock trying to find out everything he could about the woods.

"Yes...it was nice...free...back in the days when I could look at Mycroft without seeing a meddler in my life." He sighed.

"What was he like back then?" John asked.

"Less of the pompous arse he is now. We...actually got along...he'd play with me in the woods...we used to play pirates..."

"He never told me that part," John murmured.

"What...what did he tell you?" John smiled. "Just that when you were younger you wanted to be a pirate."

"Oh..."

"What is it?"

"He...he didn't talk about anything else?"

"It was a passing statement. He got kind of a far away look in his eyes. Why?"

"No...not about that..." John frowned. "About what, then?"

"About...other things in...the past..." John nodded. "He asked something about deducing your heart." He shook his head. John frowned again. "What then?"

"About...past..." John sighed. "He told me about your first...um...partner." He stiffened.

"I'm so sorry," John soothed. "I...I didn't know."

"I...I didn't even want Mycroft knowing."

"I know. I'm so sorry. I didn't want to know." He pressed his face into John's shoulder, shaking slightly.

"You're okay now," John soothed, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. "I think you're doing well to trust _anyone_."

"It...I guess it was because I was amazed anyone...wanted _me_."

"_I_ want you, Sherlock," John murmured.

"Thank you." He rested his head on his shoulder.

"You should never have had to go through that."

"I can't change it." John sighed. "I know you can't. Doesn't mean I can't wish it hadn't happened."

"It was before we met..."

"I know. And you don't have to tell me. I hate seeing you hurting like this."

"I'm not...I'm fine," he said shortly. John didn't say anything, just held Sherlock in his arms.

"I don't need pity."

"I'm not...Sherlock, do you think that's what I'm doing? Pitying you?" John asked quietly.

"I got enough of it from other people."

"Sherlock, I was a wounded soldier. I got pity too. I would never do that to you," he said gently. "I don't say it out of pity. I say it out of love. You're hurting. And it hurts me to see you hurting."

"But I'm not!"

"You shut down because I kissed you. You flatlined when I told you I love you. Sherlock, you're still dealing with the after effects. Maybe not consciously, but your subconscious is still affected." He looked at the wall.

"Sherlock. Look at me?" He looked at him out of the corner of his eye.

"What's going on up there? You can let me in."

"I...I relive it...sometimes...the...beating...thinking it would get better...thinking I could actually...trust another human..."

"Jesus," John whispered, tears forming in his eyes. "You can trust me. I would never hurt you. I would rather die."

"I...I do trust you."

"When...when was it?"

"I...I'd just left university...we were chemistry majors together...and moved in to a little flat near the college..."

"Do you know what happened to him?"

"No," he shook his head. "Mycroft...Mycroft said he'd...handled it when I woke up in the hospital."

"He did. You've a very good big brother," John said lowly. He was quiet, remembering waking up in casts and bandages.

"I wish...I wish I had been there to...I dunno. Comfort you. I hate him. I don't have to know him, but I hate him for what he did to you." Looking down, he could see the casts around his arms and legs.

"Sherlock, come back to the present. You're not as bad as you were then. No one's hurt you," John soothed. His eyes were wide and fearful when he looked at John.

"What is it?" John asked quietly.

"Hurts...everything hurts..." he could feel the broken bones, his nerves screaming.

"Fuck," John muttered. "Sherlock, you're alright. No one's hurt you." He pulled out his mobile.

_Need you now. Sherlock.-JW_

_What's wrong with him? -MH_

He couldn't move, everything hurt.

He's...I don't know. It's almost like he thinks he's where he was a few years ago.-JW

John held his hand. "Sherlock, come back to me."

_Shit. What's he doing? -MH_

He couldn't move, everything hurt, everything stiff, wrapped in gauze and plaster.

_Nothing. At all. Not responsive. Not moving.-JW_

"Sherlock, can you hear me?"

_He's not shut down again, has he? -MH_

Tears escaped his eyes. He thought that he could fix it. Make it work. Why was he here?

_I don't know. Just get your arse here. NOW. -JW_

John brushed the tears off his cheeks. "You're alright. I'm here."

_We're on our way. -MH_


	8. Remembering

**I want to thank all the wonderful people who have favorited and reviewed and followed this story and put up with the slow updating. Wouldn't you know it, but right after I started posting this story, the AC port on my laptop decided to die on me and I had to send it to get fixed for a week...rawr...well...I am back with...(hopefully) regular posts.**

**But lots and lots of love to all my lovely followers and reviewers! You guys are the reason I write! :D**

**Love, AraneLuna**

Sherlock made a small noise in his throat, a sort of pained wail. John held him close against his chest. "Just listen, Sherlock. Listen to me." He hoped the combined effect of his heartbeat and his voice would draw Sherlock back to the present. He registered the faint sensation of arms and a heartbeat and he struggled a bit, scared. John loosened his arms. "Sherlock, it's John. Come on. Come back."  
Mycroft ran in the door with Greg right behind him. Sherlock saw Mycroft and made a noise, his jaw unable to move.  
"Mycroft, help. Please," John said, his eyes wide with fear. The politician approached the bed. "Sherlock...it's okay...you're safe..." He tried to nod, but couldn't move.  
"He's...he's remembering the last time he was here."  
"What do we do?" John's eyes darted between Mycroft, Greg and Sherlock. He motioned, asking John to move. John stood and moved to the corner of the room beside Greg. Mycroft sat down beside Sherlock and held him close, murmuring in his ear. Greg put an arm around John comfortingly. John relaxed into the touch. Greg was as much family as Sherlock and Mycroft. "Greg I...I don't know how to help him."  
"He...maybe he can't be helped," Greg said honestly.  
"Don't," John warned. "Don't say that."  
"John...be realistic..."  
"No," John snapped. "I can't lose him a third time."  
"John." John pulled out of Greg's embrace, moving back over to the bed. "You're not dying on me again, dammit," he said lowly.  
"He's not dying, John," Mycroft said.  
"Then what's he doing?"  
"Something triggered his memories of him waking up in hospital after...we found him." John looked away. It was his fault. It was always his fault.  
"Sherlock...it's okay...he's gone...long gone...you're okay..." Mycroft ran a hand through Sherlock's curls, holding him close. Sherlock shivered, scooting closer to Mycroft. He made a low whimpering noise.  
"It's okay...there's nothing wrong...you'll be able to go home today." He kissed the top of his head, looking at John.  
"What do you want me to do?" John asked quickly.  
"I'm releasing him into your care."  
"How am I supposed to take care of him?"  
"Once he snaps out of this of course."  
"Are you sure that's a good idea? What if it happens again? What if he goes under again?"  
"Would you rather me lock him in a psychiatric facility?"  
"Hell no," John snarled.  
"Well, that's the only other alternative I have, John."  
"I'll look after him. But you two have to stay with me."  
"In Baker Street?"  
"No, in bloody France. Yes, in Baker Street," John said, rolling his eyes.  
"We do have our own flats to live in, you know."  
"Oh really? And here I thought you shared," John sneered. "You two know what to do better than I do. You've been through it before. I haven't. I need your help. There's an extra bedroom upstairs."  
"Isn't that...yours, John?" Greg raised an eyebrow. John rolled his eyes. "He's my patient right now. Jesus."  
"There is no need to be rude, Dr. Watson," Mycroft said sternly.  
"There was also no need to imply anything," John snapped.  
"I wasn't implying anything, John!"  
"Fine. Take the damn couch if you wish. It's not comfortable, I assure you."  
"John...we want to help Sherlock just as much as you do-"  
"Gregory, it's obvious we'll need to be there."  
"I know that, Myc..."  
"Bed or couch, it's really up to you. But you're staying with us," John said, rolling his eyes.  
"Well, I didn't exactly expect to spend the first week with my fiance on a couch in Baker Street, thank you." John raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"  
"Yes. You can't stop insinuating because I'm telling you. Gregory and I are engaged. So there."  
"I /did/ say you could take the bed," John pointed out.  
"At which point you snapped at him for asking a simple question."  
"Because I thought he was implying I didn't have Sherlock's best interests at heart."  
"I would never imply that, John." John looked over at Greg. "Sorry. Just a little touchy."  
"I realise that..."  
"Once we snap him out of this, we'll get him back to Baker Street."  
"Mycroft..." Sherlock said quietly.  
"I'm here," Mycroft said, brushing the curls off Sherlock's forehead.  
"Is he gone?"  
"Who?" Mycroft asked, frowning.  
"...Sam...is he gone?" Mycroft's face hardened. "He will never touch you again."  
"Did...did he hate me?"  
"No, Sherlock. He hated himself."  
"Then why did he hit me? Does this make me damaged?"  
"You're not damaged. I promise Sherlock, you're not. He hit you because he wanted you to feel as bad as he did," Mycroft said quietly.  
"He said he loved me. He'd hit me...then he'd hold me and say he loved me."  
"He was sick," Mycroft said coldly. "He will never see you again. I've made sure of it. He didn't love you. He was incapable of love."  
"Am I incapable of being loved?"  
"No," Mycroft said, his voice breaking. "I love you. Gregory loves you. John loves you. And we're not going anywhere."  
"Who's John?"  
"He's your friend, Sherlock. And he loves you."  
"How can he be my friend if I don't know him?"  
"Sherlock, come back to me. Look at yourself. You're not in casts. There are no bandages. Look at your arm," Mycroft said gently.  
"I see casts...I'm not blind." Mycroft placed his hand on Sherlock's arm. "Can you feel this?" His brow furrowed in confusion. He could faintly feel his hand on him, but...he knew the casts were there...he could feel them.  
"There are no casts, Sherlock," Mycroft said gently.  
"But I can see them! I'm not crazy!" Angry tears sprang to his eyes.  
"I know you aren't. Sherlock, I want you to put your hand on your arm." He did as Mycroft asked and his eyes were wide with fear. "I...I'm not...not crazy...no...no...I'm not..."  
"Sherlock, breathe deeply. In. Out. I do not believe you are crazy. You're half way in a memory," Mycroft said gently. "Close your eyes." He did as he was told and closed his eyes.  
"Listen to me. You are safe. You aren't in pain. Sam wasn't part of this. Come back to the present. Gregory and I are here," Mycroft soothed.  
"And John?"  
"You remember John now?" Mycroft asked gently.  
"You mentioned him before...did he leave?" Mycroft sighed. "No. He didn't leave." He opened his eyes and looked around, then stopped on John.  
"Sherlock?" John asked gently.  
"John?"  
"Yes? I'm here." John took a step forward. Sherlock's eyes wandered over the man, cataloguing everything. "You're my flatmate."  
"Yes," John said gently. "I am."  
"Army doctor."  
"Again, correct." He suddenly said, "I'm sorry." John frowned. "What are you sorry for?" He blinked. "I...I don't know why...I said that..."  
"It's alright, Sherlock. I understand."  
"You're...important to me...yes?" John nodded. "Yes. We've been friends for years."  
"More than that?" John blushed. "Kind of. I told you how I felt and you flatlined." His eyes widened in shock and fear.  
"No, Sherlock, it's okay. Breathe." He placed a hand on Sherlock's leg to soothe him.  
"I am breathing..." John rolled his eyes. "Well keep breathing."  
"I plan to." John smiled. "That sounds a bit more like the Sherlock I know."  
"So...he's really gone?" He looked at Mycroft sadly.  
"He's really gone," Mycroft said quietly. He turned and pressed his face into Mycroft's shirt. Mycroft ran his hand soothingly through Sherlock's hair. "You're alright. He can't hurt you anymore." He cried in Mycroft's chest, the ugly kind of crying, full wet sobs.  
"I know, Sherlock. It's okay," Mycroft soothed, rubbing his brother's back. It hurt, seeing his baby brother like this. The brother he had promised to protect. He had failed at that. Failed at taking care of his only sibling. He balled his fists into Mycroft's coat, shaking with each heavy sob. He really was unlovable. Cold. The one person he thought cared about him left. He was alone.  
"Sherlock," Mycroft said quietly. "He didn't love you. But that doesn't make you unlovable. I promise. He didn't love anyone. He didn't even love himself. But there are people in the world who do. I do. Gregory does. Mother does." He hesitated. "John does." He turned his head, looking at John, imploring him with his eyes not to lie.  
"Sherlock," John said, sitting on the bed beside him. "I do love you. Very much. I promise. And I'm not leaving. Not ever." He turned and held John tightly.  
"I've got you," John said gently, kissing his head. "And I love you so much, Sherlock Holmes."  
"Why?"  
"Because you're my best friend and you're mad but you're brilliant and you shut everyone out, but I get to see in. And what I see is beautiful," John murmured. "And I am so, so lucky." He burrowed his face in John's jumper to cover up the flush in his cheeks.  
"I'm never going to leave you, Sherlock. I promise."  
"Thank you."  
"You're more than welcome. I /couldn't/ leave you. It's impossible." He held John close to him.  
"Pigs flying and me leaving. Both impossible," John said with a smile. He didn't know if Sherlock would remember the conversation, but hoped he would.  
"Not impossible."  
"Very impossible," John said firmly.  
"Improbable."  
"Oh shut up," John said with a smile. "Impossible. Very, very impossible." He smiled softly. "Thank you, John Watson." John's eyes widened slightly. "Mycroft never told you my last name." His brow furrowed. "Yes he did."  
"No he didn't, Sherlock. You remember me. At least, a part of you remembers me." He reached up and touched his face. "You like...jam on toast for breakfast." John's hand covered Sherlock's. "Yes I do. And you always put way too much jam on it."  
"Strawberry..."  
"Correct again. You, Sherlock Holmes, are starting to remember me again," John said with a broad smile. He rested his head above his heart. "You wear too many jumpers."  
"Do not," John grinned. "They're comfortable and I like them."  
"You're single-handedly trying to keep the wool industry of England going."  
"And you wear too many ridiculous suits," John teased.  
"They're not ridiculous! They're tailored! And you seem to like them, the way you stare at my arse!" John coloured. "Yep. He remembers me."


	9. Reset

**AGAIN! Lots of apologies for not posting...My university had a bomb threat last week and we had to reschedule all of my tests on that Friday to this week, so I've been studying like crazy. Anyways, here's an extra long post for all you lovely fans. Remember, reviews and follows are like a big hug to me, so please! Also..there should be some...ahem...naughtiness coming up soon...not in this chapter...but soon...I promise... ;)**

**Love,**

**AraneLuna**

"Of course I remember you. Why would I forget my lover?" John sobered instantly. "Sherlock...we've never slept together."  
"No?"  
"No. No we haven't."  
"So...we're not together?"  
"I dunno, Sherlock. I think we agreed we wanted to be, but then you sort of blacked out," John explained. "But we've never had sex, if that's what you're asking."  
"Oh," he looked up.  
"What is it?" John asked with a frown.  
"I'm confused."  
"Why are you confused?"  
"We're together...but we're...not?"  
"We live together, we love each other, but we only admitted that to each other about an hour ago. We've not exactly had time to act on it." He ran his hand through Sherlock's hair.  
"Oh...so...mine?" He touched John's chest, looking up at him with the innocence of a child.  
"Yes. It's yours. It's all yours, Sherlock," John said gently. He linked their hands, putting John's over his heart. "Yours."  
"Mine," John murmured, brushing his thumb over Sherlock's heart. He smiled softly and rested his head on John's shoulder. John leaned down, kissing Sherlock's curls, and rested his head on Sherlock's. "Thank you," he whispered into the wool, wrapping an arm around his chest."You're welcome," John murmured. He nodded, hugging him.

Greg motioned for Mycroft to join him in the hall. "What is it?" Mycroft asked, frowning. He looked pointedly at John and Sherlock then the door. Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Sherlock I'm going to try to find you some chocolate pudding," he said gently. "I promise I'll be back."  
"Thank you, Myc," Sherlock mumbled, holding onto John. Greg left the room.  
"What?" Mycroft glared, closing the door behind him.  
"What? I just thought we should give them space."  
"My brother is stuck somewhere between 2007 and the present and you want to give them space?"  
"Let John help him. He needs John right now, someone to prove to him that he's lovable."  
"I love him," Mycroft said firmly.  
"Romantically, Mycroft. As you said, he's stuck after that bastard beat him nearly to death and left him, so he needs John to prove he can be loved romantically." Mycroft sighed. "I know," he said quietly. "I just worry about him."He pulled his fiance into his arms and held him. "I know you do, so do I."  
"You didn't see what he was like as a child. He was always so different," Mycroft said against Greg's shoulder. "I had to take care of him."  
"And you've done your best to help him, but now...you've got to let John in. You can't shelter Sherlock forever."  
"I let Sam in and look what happened there," Mycroft said bitterly.  
"John is not Sam. John would never raise a hand against Sherlock, you know that."  
"I know," Mycroft murmured. "I can't help him, Gregory. For the first time, I can't help him." He petted his hair soothingly. "It was going to happen eventually."  
"No it wasn't. I've helped him through everything."  
"Myc. You've not failed him."  
"Then why do I feel like I have, Gregory?"  
"Because you want to be the one in there holding him and comforting him, but you feel rejected because he wants John." Mycroft tensed in Greg's arms. That was exactly it.  
"Myc, Sherlock knows you love him and will always be there...but...Christ, never thought I'd say this, but he's gotta leave the nest. Mama Mycroft's gotta let go."  
"If you ever call me that again I will make it very public that you enjoy bottoming as much as topping," Mycroft said lowly. He chuckled, "Okay, okay, point taken."  
Mycroft relaxed marginally. "I understand what you're saying. I just don't appreciate the way you said it."  
"Sorry...it was something my sister used to tell my mother whenever she tried to go on dates."  
"Well, don't say it again. I'm not Sherlock's mother. I'm his big brother. Very big difference in our family. I actually care about him."  
"I'm sorry, Myc...I didn't mean to offend..."  
"I know you didn't, Gregory. My brother and I have had to look out for each other. Of course, he needed more looking out for than I did."  
"And it's a full-time job. I know. But...it's time to let someone else help...you can't handle the part of him that needs...companionship...romance...love..."  
Mycroft sighed. "I know I can't. And if I had to choose one person for him, it would be John Watson. That's why I asked him the first time we met if he would spy on Sherlock. I needed to know he could be trusted."  
"He said no, didn't he?"  
"Of course he said no," Mycroft smiled.  
"John Watson is a good man, the kind of man Sherlock needs. Stable, but someone who can reign him in if he's out of line."  
"I know he is. He's been able to put up with Sherlock for this long. Gregory...what did he mean? He said you know how bad he got."  
"What?" He furrowed his brow.  
"Before Sherlock retreated into his memory, John said something about the time during Sherlock's absence. He said you knew just how bad he was. What did he mean?" Mycroft asked, staring at Greg. He froze a bit, remembering, then shook his head.  
"Gregory?" Mycroft asked softly, cupping Greg's cheek. "What is it?"  
"I promised John."  
"Please? John would never know. I would never let on that I know."  
"I can't, Mycroft. I promised." Mycroft nodded. "You know I'm just going to ask him later, right?"  
He sighed. "Don't ask in front of Sherlock...he's already been upset by all this enough, all right?"  
"I wouldn't do that to either of them," Mycroft assured him.  
"Thank you...and keep in mind, he probably won't answer." Mycroft frowned. "You know this is infuriating, right?"  
"John's a private man and I respect that."  
"I respect that too, but I also need to know he's going to be alright around my brother."  
"It was medical."  
"Medical?" Mycroft asked, confused.  
"Yes. And that is all I'm saying." Mycroft sighed. "I will ask him later."  
"I never said you couldn't, Myc, just be prepared for him not wanting to tell you."  
"Can we go back in now?" Mycroft asked impatiently.  
"Let's go find his pudding first."  
"Right. I did promise him that." Greg took his hand and started to go down the hall.  
"I think I saw a cafeteria on the ground floor," Mycroft said, leading them toward a lift. He followed, getting in the lift.

Sherlock played with a loose thread on John's woolen jumper.  
"You really don't like the jumpers?" John asked, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair.  
"I do like the jumpers...you just have a lot of them...but...you wouldn't be you without them." John smiled gently. "They're comfortable. And comforting." Sherlock nodded, rubbing his cheek against it.  
"What else do you remember?" John asked gently.  
"You killed a man for me...barely knowing me a day."  
"He wasn't a very nice man. And he would have killed you."  
"You've been protecting me since we met..." John's arms tightened around Sherlock. "Yes," he said quietly. "At least I've tried to."  
"Even from myself."  
"You don't take good care of yourself. Someone has to make sure you eat." He mumbled something about limits into John's jumper.  
"And I know them better than you do."  
"How can you know my limits better than me?"  
"Because you constantly try to push your limits. I don't let you." He listened to the soft thumps of John's heart.  
"Do you remember anything else?"  
"I..." he shut his mouth, not wanting to say it.  
"Sherlock," John said gently. "You can tell me."  
"I remember jumping." John's eyes closed. "I remember that too."  
"I'm sorry."  
"I know you are. I never blamed you for it. It was never what you wanted to do. It was just necessary."  
"I hurt you..."  
"Yeah, but I forgave you for that quite a while ago." He buried his face in his jumper.  
"I couldn't be," John said quietly. "You saved my life. But I did miss you." He nodded in agreement. John held him close. "What else? Do you remember coming back?"  
"Vaguely."  
"What do you remember about it?"  
"Stumbling in...and...a punch in the gut...then...arms."  
"Yeah. I hit you. Then I hugged you. I missed you."  
"It...hurt..." John winced. "I spent the next hour examining you. But I'm sorry I hurt you." He shrugged.  
"Anything...else? Anything about us?" John asked.  
"You said you...love me." John smiled. "Do you remember when I said that?"  
"Today."  
"Do you remember what happened after?" John asked, hoping to spark his memory.  
"I...it's black..."  
"After the black," John clarified. He didn't want to remind Sherlock that he had died.  
"I...I said I love you too?"  
"Do you remember that or are you guessing?"  
"I can't remember past the black."  
"It's okay. Maybe it'll come back. Do you remember everything before the black?" He nodded. John sighed in relief. "So you know who I am. Not just the basic details. You remember our life?" He nodded again. "All the running, the cases...Moriarty..."  
"Good." He held Sherlock against his chest. "Good. You scared me." He buried his face in John's jumper, listening and breathing in his scent.  
"You thought it was 2007 again," John explained, his fingers running through Sherlock's curls.  
"Not...please don't...don't mention it..." John nodded, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's head. "I won't. I never will again."  
"Thank you," he fisted his hand in John's jumper like a small child.  
"It's common courtesy. It hurts you, therefore I won't talk about it." His arms tightened marginally around Sherlock, holding him protectively. He closed his eyes, listening.  
"So you remember before the black. Mycroft and Greg have gone to get you pudding. I think you're doing well, all things considered."  
"Mmm...chocolate?" John smiled. "Yes. Chocolate."  
"Good...I like chocolate."  
"I know. You told me it reminded you of summers at the lake house."  
"Mmm...we should go there." John ran his hand up and down Sherlock's side. "Yes we should."  
"The peace would be nice..." he yawned.  
"Figured it'd be too quiet for you. Not enough mystery."  
"I need quiet too.." John swallowed, his heart twinging a bit. "I know. I know, Sherlock." He yawned again, snuggling into him like a cat.  
"Here," John said gently. He eased Sherlock back then toed off his shoes, swinging his legs onto the bed and lay on his side beside Sherlock. He snuggled back after John had moved them.  
"Do you want to sleep?" he asked quietly.  
"I want you to stay..." he looked up imploringly. "Please?"  
"Sherlock, I'm not leaving," John assured him. "I won't leave, even if you want to sleep."  
"Good..." he yawned again, snuggling close, closing his eyes, seeming so innocent. John kept running his hand soothingly through Sherlock's hair, watching him. He looked years younger. It almost hurt how young and exposed he looked.  
"I love you, John," he said sleepily. John leaned forward, gently kissing Sherlock. "I love you too, Sherlock." He blinked at the kiss. John frowned. "Sorry, not good?"  
"Just...no one's..." he flushed.  
"No one's what, Sherlock? You've had partners. Certainly you've...been kissed before, right?" He shook his head. John held him close, rubbing soothing circles on his back. "That's what happened, then. I scared you. Earlier. Before the hospital. I kissed you and you ran. I thought...I thought you'd had one before."  
"I...no one had...no one wanted to..."  
"Well I did. I love you, Sherlock. And I wanted to show it."  
"And...that's how people show it?" John shrugged. "It's one way. Physical affection is just an extension of emotional affection." He leaned up and kissed him back. John smiled against Sherlock's lips, cupping his cheek. "Thank you," he said quietly. He blinked. "For what?"  
"That. Kissing me. You didn't have to. It was good. I just...thank you."  
"I did. You said it's how people show love."  
"I said one of the ways. You didn't have to. Hugs work. Hand holding. Just...touching." He snuggled closer, putting an arm across John's waist. "This okay?" John smiled. "This is very okay." He smiled back.  
John rubbed his hand across Sherlock's arm, laying his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He snuggled into John, closing his eyes.  
"If you sleep, I'll be here when you wake up," John said gently.  
"Thank you..." he yawned and slipped off. John watched Sherlock sleep. He looked years younger and wonderfully peaceful. He didn't dream, just slept peacefully, snuggling into the warmth that was John. The smaller man held him protectively as he slept, keeping a close eye on him. His fists tightened and loosened in John's jumper as he slept. John pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, watching the door.  
Greg slipped inside with the pudding. "How's he doing?"  
"Progress," John said with a smile. "He remembers everything up to the minute he...umm...everything went black."  
"Ah..." Greg looked down at him. "Hard to believe he's the same one who gives us so much crap every day." John looked up at him. "He doesn't give me crap...not as often as he does you." He shrugged. "It keeps him off the drugs and gives him something constructive to do."  
John's arms tightened protectively around Sherlock. "What was he like, Greg?"  
"He..." he scrubbed a hand through his hair. "He did drugs...I thought you knew that." John nodded. "I did. But what was he like?"  
"...Manic. Couldn't focus on anything...but...he needed it...he..." Greg paused, unsure if he should say anything about it. John looked down at Sherlock. "He's still manic," he smiled.  
"Yeah..." he let the subject drop.  
"Are you and Mycroft really getting married, then?" John asked, changing the topic. He nodded, blushing.  
"What do the girls think about him?" John asked, smiling.  
"They've always loved Mycroft."  
"Good then. I'm glad you two have each other."  
"Yeah...and I'm glad Sherlock has someone like you."  
"He's special," John said fondly.  
"He is...and he needs someone to make sure he knows that."  
"I love him, Greg. Very much."  
"Love you too, John," Sherlock mumbled, half-asleep. John leaned down and kissed Sherlock's head. "Yeah you." He made an odd purring sound. John rubbed his hand over Sherlock's arm. He snuggled into John's chest.  
"He's almost adorable."  
"M'not adorable."  
"Yeah you are," John said gently. "No."  
John smiled. "Alright love. You're not adorable." He snuggled into John, yawning.  
"Greg brought pudding. Or are you going to sleep some more?"  
"Pudding?"  
"Yeah. Chocolate pudding." He looked over at Greg and mouthed "Where's Mycroft?"  
"He had some work to handle," he mouthed back. Sherlock hummed happily.  
"Work?" John mouthed. He turned to Sherlock. "Pudding or sleep?" Greg nodded.  
"Can't decide...both tempting..." John frowned. Mycroft had been nothing but eager to get back to Sherlock. He nodded. "Just take your time, Sherlock."  
The curly haired man nodded, yawning.  
Greg leaned against the wall.  
"Where is he really?" John mouthed, staring at Greg.  
"He's...talking to a doctor."  
"About what?"  
"...Possibly getting Sherlock some medication."  
"Medication?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. He nodded.  
"No," John mouthed. "John..."  
"I'm his doctor. No." Sherlock slipped back into sleep. "John...it'll help him."  
"You don't know that. Some things take more than just a pill to overcome."  
"The doctor says it will help with the blackouts and the memories resurfacing." John stilled. "It'll help with the blackouts?" He nodded.  
"We'll see."  
"John...Mycroft is his family and he has the right to act in the interest of Sherlock's health." John glared. "I'm his doctor. And his...something."  
"John. They'll only listen to you if you...were...I dunno, his husband. But he's being treated here and Mycroft...calls the shots." John glared. "Sit with him. I need to talk to Mycroft." Greg sighed.  
"Stay with him Greg," John said, standing. He moved and sat on the edge of the bed. John closed the door behind him as he left. "Mycroft Holmes I need to speak with you," he said harshly. Mycroft nodded to the doctor, then looked at John. "Yes?"  
"You didn't even consult me! I'm his doctor! I'm his..." Fuck. He didn't even know what they were.  
"John. It is in his best interest."  
"How the hell would you know? I live with him! I interact with him on a daily basis!"  
"This is going to help him! I thought you would be all for that!"  
"How do you know it will help him? Pills don't fix everything!"  
"Well, the only other option I have is to put him away! Would you like that?"  
"No it isn't! And there's no way in hell I'm letting you put him away. He needs counseling, Mycroft!"  
"He won't go! I've tried! He jumped out a window to get away!"  
"He didn't have me! And probably the therapist was just like you. A pompous little arse who doesn't put up with Sherlock's shit! I can look after him! I can get him to go!" John raged.  
"And what happens if you're not there! Who will take care of him then!?"  
"Why wouldn't I be there?! Where the hell do you think I'm going to go?!" Mycroft was quiet, then looked at him. "I've entrusted him to the wrong people before, John."  
"I'm not leaving him Mycroft. It nearly killed me when he left me."  
"I know you wouldn't do it willingly."  
"I don't think you get it, Mycroft. There is no scenario in which I leave Sherlock."  
"Dead?" John sighed. "That's the only way. And I doubt even you could save him then."  
"John. I'm trying to act within the best interests of my brother."  
"And so am I. Mycroft, I know you're doing what you think is best but I'm a doctor. His doctor," Join said gently. "I know what's best for him. And he doesn't need medicine. Not pills anyway."  
"Fine. But you'll see how hard it is to get him to go and cooperate."  
"We're on the same side, Mycroft. I love him as much as you do."  
"I...I want him safe and sound."  
"I know you do. I do too."  
"Protect him..." John put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "With my life. You're his big brother and I get that. But I love him too." He touched his hand. "Thank you."  
"You're welcome. I would have jumped for him if I could have."  
"Please...don't talk like that in front of him. You're all he had to focus himself with."  
"I won't. Not in front of him. But you deserve to know."  
"Thank you. I...I'm sorry for all this..." the politician sighed.  
"I know you are. I know you have questions about the time during Sherlock's death," John said, swallowing.  
"Only out of concern."  
"We should take a walk. Fancy a coffee?" John asked. "It's kind of a bit personal. I don't want anyone overhearing."  
"Gregory can watch Sherlock, I think," he motioned for John to go ahead of him.  
"You knew, didn't you? About Sherlock. That he was alive," John said, walking down the hall beside Mycroft.  
"I was involved in hiding him. He...contacted me after Miss Hooper hid him and asked for my help." John nodded. "I figured as much. How often did you look in on me? And don't...don't lie and say you didn't."  
"As often as Sherlock asked."  
"How often?" John pressed.  
"Once a week or so?" John laughed wryly. "Don't know how you missed it then."  
"John...Gregory won't tell me."  
"He's a good friend. Knew I could trust him. Why do you want to know so badly?"  
"Out of concern. You're important to Sherlock, so important to me."  
"And if I don't want to tell you?" John asked.  
"John. I will eventually know. I'm giving you the chance to tell me."  
"Is that a threat?" John asked coldly. "No...I'm not threatening you at all, Dr. Watson."  
"Then how will you 'eventually know' if I refuse to tell you?"  
"You really underestimate me, don't you?"  
"No. I just refuse to be bullied by you."  
"I'm not bullying you." John laughed humourlessly. "And now you're just lying to me."  
"I'm not bullying you, John. I'm trying to help."  
"Help what? Satisfy your curiosity? I see no reason to tell you."  
"Dammit, John! I...is it so bad for me to know? You've got my fiance keeping it from me!"  
"Because I asked him to! It's not something I like remembering. He agreed as my friend, not your fiance."  
"John...if you need help, I...I want to help...I know we've had our differences over Sherlock in the past..." Mycroft was almost pleading. John rolled his eyes. "I don't need help, Mycroft. I'm fine now. I promise."  
"Would you tell me if you weren't?"  
"You want to know? You really want to know what Greg wouldn't tell you? Fine. I tried to kill myself while Sherlock was gone. There. Happy?" John asked, glaring. Mycroft froze. "John."  
"What?" John snapped. "I...I'm sorry." John shrugged. "It was stupid of my therapist to give me sleeping pills when I was clearly depressed." Mycroft shifted then did something he wouldn't normally do, he stepped forward and pulled John into his arms awkwardly, hugging him. John blinked, patting Myroft on the back. "Umm, thanks?"  
"You're family, John Watson." John's mouth quirked into a smile. "Thanks, Mycroft." He relaxed slightly. Mycroft nodded, holding him for a little bit. "You're important to us."  
"I like to think I am."  
"You are. You're important to Sherlock...and you're like a brother to me."  
"Please then, Mycroft, don't make him take the medication," John said, his tone slightly pleading. "I can take care of him. I know you worry about us...but I really can take care of him. And if anything happened to either of us, quite frankly you'd lose us both."  
"I...I couldn't handle that...please don't say that."  
"I won't again, but I felt like you needed to know."  
"John..." he swallowed. John sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. It's just...I've lost him twice. I can't lose him a third time."  
"I...I know...I would probably do the same if I lost Gregory."  
"Why do you call him Gregory? Instead of Greg?" John asked, curious.  
"It...feels right. Everyone else calls him Greg, even his family...but only I get to call him Gregory." John smiled. "I understand."  
"I love him," he said simply. "I can definitely understand that feeling. I feel the same about Sherlock," the good doctor nodded in agreement.  
"Good...which is why I worry about you too. Because...if anything happened to you, Sherlock would never survive it."  
"I know. But I survive. It's what I do. Even...even when he doesn't," John sighed.  
"That's the soldier talking."  
"Probably. But it works," he shrugged.  
"John. Take care of yourself too."  
"I try, Mycroft. It doesn't always work, but I've got to be here for Sherlock, so I have to be okay."  
"Please," he nodded. John sighed. "I really am fine, Mycroft. He's back now. The only thing I wanted when he was away was for him to be back. Or for me to be with him. And now that I've got both, there's no need for me not to be okay." The elder Holmes nodded, letting him go.  
"I promise, Mycroft. I'm okay now. I can take care of him."  
"Fine...I'll...cancel the medication..." John relaxed visibly. "Thank you. This isn't something medicine can heal. At least not pills. He has to face this head on. Confront it."  
"Even...even if he...blacks out again?" John sighed. "If it doesn't work, we can try the medication."  
"I just...I hope you know what you're doing."  
"I'm a doctor. And even doctors agree that pills don't solve everything. He has to come to terms with this."  
"John...he's spent the last ten years trying to come to terms with this. His method is to lock it up in his mind palace and forget it."  
"He's used drugs and avoidance to cope," John said gently. "I know what I'm doing."  
"Thank you," Mycroft squeezed his arm. "You're welcome. We should probably get back. I don't want him worrying. His brother and his...shit, Mycroft what am I to him?"  
"The love of his life." John smiled lightly. "Well, that's not exactly a term I can use in daily conversation. We're not exactly partners. Or boyfriends. Or lovers."  
"That's what he called you."  
"Which one?"  
"The love of his life. He said he was only sorry he didn't realise it sooner." John's face softened. "I am too. I mean...sorry I didn't realise it."  
"Hindsight is 20/20, John."  
"I know. I have him now, though."  
"Then we should get back to him." John nodded, walking back the way they had came. "What term did you use before you two got engaged?"  
"He was my Gregory. We didn't need terms."  
"Yes but when you introduced him, you didn't just call him your Gregory, did you?"  
"Gregory insisted on partners for public introductions." John nodded. "I think partners would work well for Sherlock and I."  
"In every sense of the word, yes."  
"I think we've been partners for a long time. We just haven't realised it."  
"I'm proud to call you family."  
"Do you see now why I can honestly tell Sarah that Sherlock's family? Because he is. You all are." Mycroft smiled softly. "I knew you were a good man when I met you."  
"Why? Because I refused to spy on Sherlock for money?" John asked, laughing slightly. "Precisely. Lesser men than you have."  
"I couldn't do that. Not to him. It didn't take much for me to trust him. You were right even then."  
"And then I knew I could trust you. Not even a day and you wouldn't spy on him and little after that you shot a man for him."  
"He wasn't a very good man. It was his life or Sherlock's. There really wasn't any choice to be made."  
"You've been protecting him since you met. I have no doubts you would do anything for him."  
"I really would. I told you. I would have jumped for him."  
"I'm glad you didn't."  
"How bad would it have been? If our places had been reversed? Mine and Sherlock's." John asked.  
"He would have fallen apart," he said simply. "Worse than I did?" John asked, his eyes narrowing. "There would be no Sherlock." John nodded grimly. "I see." They reached Sherlock's room and he nodded again, signalling the conversation was over. Mycroft nodded in agreement and opened the door.  
"Where have you two been?" Greg asked, looking up from the bed.  
"Talking, dear," Mycroft said, kissing him on the cheek. Sherlock looked up from his pudding cup and smiled. Greg quirked an eyebrow, a silent question. Did he tell you? Mycroft silently nodded. Greg blinked, surprised.  
John moved over to the bed. "I see you eventually chose the pudding?" he asked, smiling. Sherlock grinned. "Want some?" he offered the spoon to John.  
"No thanks, love. I prefer tapioca," John said, rubbing Sherlock's arm. Sherlock made a face at him, but snuggled into him anyway.  
"Did you have a good nap?" John asked, holding him in the crook of his arm. He nodded, licking the spoon clean. John smiled. Sherlock was almost childlike. He reminded himself just how vulnerable Sherlock was and his arms tightened subconsciously. Sherlock noticed John's tension and looked at him oddly.  
"Nothing," John said with a slight smile. He pressed a kiss to Sherlock's cheek. He accepted the kiss and snuggled against Johns side.  
"How are you feeling?" John asked.  
"Better," he smiled.  
"Good. Have you remembered anything else?" John asked carefully. He shook his head.  
"That's okay," John said gently.  
"Is it?" he looked at him with the spoon in his mouth.  
"Yeah. It hasn't been that long. Sometimes it takes people days to recover what they lost. And you didn't lose that much." John rubbed Sherlock's arm reassuringly. He nodded, leaning on John. John ran a hand through Sherlock's curls. He arched into the hand, purring slightly.


End file.
